LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



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Shelf ...-.13-^ Y^ 
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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
i—i^ — \ 



VISIONS OF FANCY, 



POETICAL WORK. 



-BY- 



N. M. BASKETT, M. D 



SEP C 1884 



ST. LOUIS, MO. : 

Commercial Printing Company, 405 North Third Street. 
1884. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in tlie year 1884, by 

N. M. BASICETT, 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congi-ess, at "Washington. 



i>EDI0ATI01sr. 



TO 

THE MEMOEY OE 

MY PAEENTS, MY WIEE AND CHILDEElSr, 

MY HOJSrOEED PEECEPTOE, DE. A. E. GOEE, OF 

PAEIS, MO., AND TO THE MEDICAL PEOFESSION, 

THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY AND 

EESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 

BY 

N. M. BASKETT, M. D., MOBEELY, MO. 



PEEFAOE 



Every book is its own excuse for existence, and 
needs no apology for its publication. If worthy, 
its merits will be appreciated by a discriminating 
public. If not, it will drop into merited oblivion. 
This book is submitted to the public without fur- 
ther comment by 

THE AUTHOR. 

July 13, '84. 



II^DEX. 




The Three Angels 

If I Could Only Know - 


PAGE. 

1 

3 


The Soldier's Farewell Song - 


4 


Farewell ----- 


4 


Then and Now 


5 


To a Thrush . . - . 


7 


Purity and Hope in Death - 
Freedom's Dead - - - - 


8 
9 


Going Home - - - - 
Eole . . - . . 


- 10 
12 


Dream-land - . . . 


- 13 


To Memory . . . . 
God 


14 
- 15 


Elsinore ----- 


18 


The Future ... - 


- 19 


Fredericksburgh — Decoration Day, 1883 
Sonnet ----- 


20 
- 24 


The Old Man's Prayer 

The Serenade - - - - 


. 25 
- 28 


A Year's Retrospect - 


31 



The Medical Student - - - - 34 

Address to a Star — a Soliloquy - - 37 

The Girl I Love - - - - 41 

Carrie Lee ----- 43 

Sic Transit Gloria - - - - 44 

A Hymn ----- 45 

A Song - - - - - 46 

As Springs Unto Their Levels E-ise - 47 

The Weary Poet - - - - 47 

The Hushand to His Dead Wife - - 49 

Best at Home - - - - - 50 

The Years of the Long Ago - - 51 

The Girl I Met in Calico - - - 54 

Orpheus and Eurydice - - - 56 

Vision of Poverty - - - - 66 

The Land of Solitude - - - 72 

The Land of Music - - - - 77 

That Yearling Brindle Steer - - 81 

Mabel Ellerslie - - - - 87 

Egypt and the Sphinx - - - 90 

The Substitute - - - - - 94 

If I Could See Thee - - - 103 
Why Vex the Heavens with Useless Prayer 104 

My Mother's Grave - - - 106 



<5y;:x^^"^'®^'l®'^*''^t:^^i 



POEMS. 

The Three Angels. 




Out of the vague, vast void of space 
God called three angels to His face. 
On work of mercy, gone for years. 
Their spirit eyes were full of tears. 
Then calmly spake He : "I would know 
The secret cause of all thy woe. 
Doth not all heaven's fruition keep 
Some balm to comfort those who weep ?" 

The first sprite said : " I weep, that men 
Forget Thy laws and sin again ; 
And though I strive to lead them right 
They still do evil in Thy sight." 

The second .cried : " O Lord ! I weep, 
While through the years my watch I keep. 
O'er all man's misery and pain ; 
O'er hearts that cry for love in vain ; 



O'er eager hands that clutch for bread, 
And faces where no hope is shed ; 
O'er disappointment, toil and trial, 
And patient years of self-denial ; 
O'er hearts decayed and voices dumb — 
Longing for joys that never come." 

" And I — Lord," the third replied, 

" Find death abounds on every side ; 

For him who dies devoid of faith 

I find an everlasting death ; 

Long years, unending years of pain. 

Without a hope to rise again. 

And when these things my eyes had seen, 

Better,! cried, man had not been: 

What need for sacrifice of Christ 

If men still fail of Paradise ?" 

He spake : " Who questions what I will ? 
My laws are pure and righteous still ; 
And God needs not to justify 
His way unto inferior eye. 
Yet, brooding like the gentle dove. 
O'er every human heart sits Love. 
Love that begot and fashioned him, 
That moulded every rounded limb, 
And raised him from the bed of clay 
Into the light of earth's young day. 
And still Love watches o'er each child 
With features suffering, pale and mild. 
Go, then, and know, where'er man be. 
Throughout profound infinity. 



Love still will guard his wayward flight, 
And lead through darkness into light. 
Know, whatsoe'er may be its course. 
The stream will rise unto its source ; 
And man from misery shall ascend 
To find His God, His saving Friend." 

August, 1882. 



If I Could Only Know. 

A SOJS'G. 



If I could only count, my love. 

Upon thy love for e'er. 
Whatever woes in life might come, 

I would not care or fear ; 
For fate is strong and pain is strong, 

And bitter is life's gall. 
But strong as fate or pain may be, 

Love stronger is than all. 

If I could only know, my love, 

Whate'er shall be my doom. 
Forever in thy heart of hearts. 

My love should find a home : 
No night could dim the light, no cloud 

Could hide my perfect day ; 
The knowledge of thy love for me 

Would drive the night away. 

But Slander's tongue is strong, my love, 

The voice of Hate is deep ; 
Hints darkly strewn have poisoned life, 

As dreams have poisoned sleep : 



But oh ! if I could only know — 
Whate'er shall be my doom — 

Forever in thy heart of hearts 
My love shall find a home. 



THE Soldier's Farewell Song. 

Mother, when the snare drums roll, 

Think upon thy soldier boy ; 
When the distant church bells toll, 
Think they're knelling for his soul. 

When you hear the cannon's roar. 

Think upon thy soldier boy ; 
In the ranks he treads before, 
Thou may'st see his face no more. 

When they come with solemn tread, 

Think upon thy soldier boy : 
'Tis the ritual that is read 
O'er a soldier lying dead. 

When the troops are marching home, 

Think upon thy soldier boy : 
If with them he should not come. 
Know he met a warrior's doom. 



Farewell. 

A SONG. 



For what we were in days of yore, 
Which never more can be, 

I press a kiss upon thy cheek. 
And breathe a prayer for thee. 



I lay my hand in thine, and speak 

The accents of farewell ; 
I leave unsaid the sorrowing words 

Which my poor tongue would tell. 

May life grow bright along the way 

Whereon thy feet shall tread ; 
May time reveal no sadder day, 

May pleasure deck thy head. 

And when thou tread'st life's darkened slope, 

Unto the final end, 
O, may'st thou turn and breathe a prayer 

For him who is thy friend ! 

O, may thy life ne'er darkened be 

With shadows of regret ! 
May'st thou go onward, and life's sun 

In golden glory set. 



Then and Now. 



The world's thought was youth's thought 

When father Adam trod it ; 
For God wrought and Truth taught 

Amid the angels' plaudit ; 
And men sang and worlds sang 

In ecstasy together. 
And trees bloomed and flowers sprang 

In that heavenly weather. 

Serene then and green then 
The earth was full of blisses ; 



Complete then and sweet then 
As young lips wet with kisses ; 

No morrow brought sorrow, 
No day the dread of dying ; 

Each eye then was dry then, 
No voice was hoarse with sighing. 

No white stone on earth shone 

To tell of vanished pleasure ; 
No hand wrought, nor man thought, 

To buy or sell for treasure ; 
But white ships with wet lips 

Sailed over seas of glory, 
To green strands and fair lands, 

Before the word was hoary. 

Now earth's thought is old thought, 

The world itself is weary ; 
And man sighs, while Time flies, 

That every day is dreary ; 
Grod walks not and talks not 

With man, as He has spoken. 
And Love now wears a pale brow, 

For the hearts of men are broken. 

The flowers bloom, but the grave's gloom 

Is in their shades of beauty ; 
The birds sing in the young spring • 

As if from sense of duty. 
In the tomb's shade man's hopes are laid, 

And the old, old earth is groaning 
For the new time and the true time 

That shall still the voice of moaning. 



To A Thrush. 



Thou gentle warbler of the spring, 
With ashy breast and auburn wing, 
I greet thee as a blessed thing ; 

For thou hast come 
To tell us that all birds shall sing 

And nature bloom. 
Before the trees have donned their green 
Thou charmest the freshly budding scene, 
And cheerest us with thy voice serene ; 

Thy warbling tongue, 
From winter's darkness, seems to glean 

A joy unseen. 
And from yon weather-beaten oak. 
That long hath stood the tempest's shock, 
The lightning's flash, the woodman's stroke, 

Thou pourest thy praise. 
Ere earth hath donned the emerald cloak 

Of spring's warm days. 
Then, when the spring-time grass is wet, 
Thou broodest o'er the violet, 
And singest thy song unto thy mate 

Upon her nest. 
And, listening to thee, I forget 

My deep unrest. 
True poet of that vernal birth 
Which wakes all nature into mirth 
And vivifies a sleeping earth, 

Sing on ! Sing on ! 
Some abler tongue shall tell thy worth 

When thou art gone. 



Thus should the poet's song be sung 
For rich and poor, for old and young, 
In sweet, melodious, joyous tongue, 

To thrill the heart ; 
Thus should his trembling lyre be strung 

With magic art : 

Thus should love's artless tale be told ; 
Thus peace her siren wings should fold, 
And claim her blessings, not in bold 

And haughty voice, 
But in a tongue untouched by cold, 

That cries " rejoice ! " 

Thus life should be one lasting song 
Of manful work, deep-willed and strong, 
An endless struggle against wrong — 

A manly fight 
To help each fainting heart along 

And 'stablish right. 

June, 1883. 



Purity and Hope in Death. 



Flowers shed their sweetest breath 
When the white frosts blight. 

And eyes which close in death 
Give their truest light. 

The earth weeps tears of dew 

Over the vanished day ; 
And true eyes fill with sorrow, too. 

When Love flies away. 



But morn shall come again, 
And spring restore the flowers ; 

And the soul in other worlds regain 
The love lost in ours. 



Freedom's Dead. 



Weep not for those who fall in freedom's cause ; 
Sweet is their sleep, and history's pencil draws 
Their fervor, and the poet sings each name ; 
Each name undying sweeps through endless ages, 
Emblazoned on the monuments of fame. 

Their names are borne by every breeze that 

blows ; 
Their names are sung by every stream which 

flows; 
And, disenthralled from boundaries and powers, 
Though tyranny around her misery wages. 
Are lisped as those who died in Freedom's 

bowers. 

Oh, sweet shall bloom the flowers upon their bed ; 
The oak leaf ever circles round their head ; 
Huge monuments uppiled shall tell their story, 
And every nation that for right engages 
Shall teach its orators to spread their glory. 

But go ye forth and weep for him who stands ' 
With silent tongue and menial folded hands ; 
Who, while around him howls the tyrannic rout, 
And hideous Ignorance like a giant rages, 
Lifts not his hands, or gives one free-born shout. 



Going Home. 



I'm going back. My feet shall press 
The dry leaves of the wilderness, 

And 'neath the oak trees, straight and tall, 
I'll watch the days of Autumn fall. 

And from the great limbs, bare and brown. 
Hear acorn cups come rattling down. 

Perchance, 'neath those old trees the truth 
Will take the early dreams of youth. 

And broad Experience teach to me 
My early dreams' futility. 

The partridge in the hidden nook 
Will call again. The babbling brook 

Will still go murmuring down the glade, 
And sing the same sweet song it made 

When first I heard it ; and again 
The thrush will wake the early strain. 

At morning, on the dewy spray, 
I heard before I went away. 

No more ambition's restless dreams 
Shall worry me, but sunny beams 

Filtering through long green sweeps of wood. 
Where Grod walks in the solitude. 

No more the sturdy fight for place ; 
I go to look on Nature's face, 

To lay my form upon her breast, 
And soothe my weary limbs to rest, 



10 



Forgetting all the world, to be 
Lulled by lier ceaseless minstrelsy. 

I'll seek again those faces mild 

That knew and loved me when a child ; 

Some gone — alas ! Some older grown ; 
And many too, like me, have flown; 

But early friends are longest true. 
And I will youthful themes renew 

With those fond spirits who remain, 
And live my boyhood o'er again : 

And by the cheerful fireside 
I'll reck not if the world is wide ; 

But youthful sports our mind shall fill, 
And early triumphs too shall thrill 

Our hearts once more. And we will talk 
Of those with whom we once did walk 

In joyousness, but who have passed 
To, where there is true peace at last. 

Careless of Fame, my days shall pass 
Like welling springs through waving grass. 

No more a martyr on the rack, 

I leave the world and seek the track 

I gladly fled when but a boy. 
For there I know is more of joy, 

Than weary through the world to roam 
For Fame or Wealth. I'm going home. 



n 



EOLE. 

And thou art dead, Eble ! 

The trump of life is blown ; 

The moonlight, pale and holy, 

Rests on thy burial stone ; 

And here at midnight, slowly, 

I come to weep alone. 

Through shadows dark and solemn, 

Where sighs the cypress tree, 

By many a ghostlike column, 

I make my way to thee. 

The restless river, sighing. 
Winds through the silent glade ; 
The whippoorwill is crying 
In yonder bower of shade ; 
And the red rose is dying 
Where thy dead form is laid. 
The dewdrops, clear and chilly. 
Which sorrowing angels weep. 
Fall on the snowy lily 
Upon thy grave asleep. 

I weep for what I knew thee, 
And what I know thou art : 
If tear drops could renew thee, 
From thy grave thou wouldst start. 
The clear drops which bedew thee 
Flow from my fainting heart ; 
For the night of grief is o'er me 
By thy burial stone, 
As I see the years before me 
Which I must tread alone. 



12 



And so at night, Eole, 

When all the world is still, 

When the night winds breathe lowly 

Across the purple hill, 

When the moonlight, pale and holy. 

Lights the ripples of the rill, 

Lovingly, tenderly, slowly. 

Through grasses damp and deep, 

Burdened with melancholy, 

I seek thy grave to weep. 



Dreamland. 

A SONG. 



I know a land where flowers 

Bloom evermore ; 
Birds sing in groves of spice 

On that sweet shore ; 
Fairy shadows lightly flit 

Over bright streams. 
I see this land of flowers 

Ever in dreams. 

Fancy is there awake. 

Weaving soft spells ; 
Music from bush and brake 
Ceaselessly wells ; 
Sprites fairer far than earth's 

Float 'neath calm skies, 
Singing sweet songs, that bring 
Rest to tired eyes. 



Often I wander there, 

Seeing in dreams, 
Far tlirough the magic air. 

Angelic gleams 
Of faces that long ago 

Passed from the earth, 
But in fanciful slumber 

Again have birth. 

To Memory. 



Sweet guardian of the storehouse of the mind, 
Open the doors, that I may search and find 
The golden words which lie concealed behind. 

Come with me ; hold thy glimmering candle high 
And light each crannied nook, that I may spy 
The place where youth's bright diamond treas- 
ures lie. 

Draw back the curtains, and display to view 
Fancy's bright, silken garb of gorgeous hue, 
"With warp forever changing into colors new ; 

And bring me forth those bags of gleaming gold, 
Which wit and mirth in jovial concert hold ; 
And let the treasures they contain be told. 

And sorrow's silvery wealth shall be untied ; 

And melancholy, pale and leaden eyed, 

While we are searching, shall stand at our side 

And tell her story. With unstudied art 
Love shall reveal the pulsings of the heart, 
And hope shall make the shades of night depart. 



Help, thou, to form the visions I essay, 

The shade and light, the hollow, gleaming day. 

And the dark night from which stars pass away. 

Bright guardian, Memory ! make the vanished 

clear ; 
Whisper sweet recollections in my ear ; 
Walk thou beside me till my change appear. 



God. 

Throughout the hollow void that men call space 
An Unknown Being broods in awful state. 

Thro' "Whom are time and Girciomstance and place, 
And destiny, ox fate. 

Sitting aloft. He notes each action done ; 

Pois'd are His scales with nicety, and they turn. 
Weighing each circumstance beneath the sun 

With awful unconcern. 

In Him is life, with all its various laws ; 

In Him is death, with all its varying woes : 
Each force to nourish life, or bid it pause. 

He knows its ebbs and flows. 

Each broken law of Nature brings its woe 
To him who breaks it; and each good deed done 

Here finds its just reward ; for as men sow 
Men reap beneath the sun. 

Only no Special Providence is here ; 

His laws, immutable, stand fixed and strong 
Through aeon upon seon, year on year ; 

Nature will right each wrong. 



15 



He will not answer if a strong man cry ; 

He will not startle if a sparrow shriek ; 
Jj'or man and sparrow in their agony 

Alike to Him are weak. 

He knows no boundary of Time, or Space ; 

He makes His home beyond the farthest star ; 
And where we meet in converse face to face 

He and His angels are. 

The ages that have passed behind the flood, 
Those cycles upon cycles vast and dim, 

These shifting days and those to come, know God, 
And still shall know of Him. 

His laws unchanging then are unchanged still ; 

That which He wills will run its course, and be 
The cause, or consequence of that which will 

Exist eternally. 

If a man murder, Sorrow haunts his life, 
A red-eyed Nemesis upon his path ; 

If a man yield himself to crime, or strife. 
His days shall end in wrath. 

If a man work and live with all in peace, 

Content shall strew'his pathway with her flowers ; 

If men live soberly, their pains shall cease. 
And old age crown their hours. 

So well He holds the thread of Circumstance, 
The drifting mote within the golden beam 

Is no more subject to the play of chance 
Than the broad, silver stream. 



Which bears a navy on its placid breast : 
Nothing so large is but He knows it all ; 

Nothing escapes His vision ; He doth test 
Alike the great and small. 

He bowls the worlds forth with resistless force, 
Or woos the crocus from its wintry gloom ; 

That to whirl on forever in its course, 
This to smile on a tomb. 

We may not think of Him as man in form ; 

All eyes He lives watching— His perfect law 
Sending Spring sunshine, bringing Winter storm, 

Without defect or flaw. 

All hands, He waits with power to execute 
The perfect mandates of His perfect will ; 

All mind, He fashions plastic matter mute, 
And glories to instil 

Soul into that unhoping clod whereon 
We tread to-day ; eager at His command 

A thousand beauteous forms rise up, and fawn 
Upon His mighty hand. 

Unbounded, unapproached and uncontrolled, 
He seeks not praise, though all creation bows ; 

No less will man with eager tongue unfold 
Tales, which the heart arouse, 

Of wandering men' lost in the awful night. 
Traveling thro' devious paths, weak and astray. 

Brought by Incarnate Deity to light 
Of Heaven's purest ray. 



Thus will lie strive still to embody forth 
Some likeness to the Unknown, who, all calm, 

Includes all worlds, and all that girds the earth. 
And claims all in "I am." 

No human mind can rise unto His height, 
No soul can soar adown the vast abyss, 

Fathoming the fulness of the Infinite, 
Or read what power is His, 



Elsinore. 



When the bloom has fallen away 

From the stalk, Elsinore ; 
And shadows haunt the day, 

Elsinore ; 
When the green spires fade away, 
And the grass turns brown and gray. 
And the winds of winter stray, 

Elsinore ; 

When the youthful pulses fail 
In their rounds, Elsinore ; 
And the song become a wail, 

Elsinore ; 
When time's destroying plow 
With its furrows marks my brow, 
Will you love me then as now, 

Elsinore ? 

Ah ! when breezes fan the cheek 
In our youth, Elsinore ; 
Then the soul will gladly speak, 
Elsinore ; 



IS 



In the gladness of life's spring 
Love will sit and plume his wing, 
A liappy, thoughtless thing, 
Elsinore 

But when winter's winds are out 
With their wails, Elsinore ; 
Then love's a thing of doubt, 

Elsinore. 
When the blasts of winter moan. 
Then love will leave his throne, 
And our hearts are left alone, 

Elsinore. 



THE Future. 



Oft I ponder on the future 
Which life's wave must yet roll o'er ; 

And I wonder when my spirit 
Shall be wrecked, and on what shore. 

I am weary 
Thinking of the days before. 

Visions rise and hover o'er me, 
Gleams, perhaps, of future day ; 

Hope's serenest stars restore me, 
Glinting on my darkened way ; 

And before me 
Flashes high ambition's ray. 

Or, perchance, small voices murmur 
In the chambers of my soul : 
" Press ye on into the summer, 



19 



Where life's emerald leaves unfold ; 

Through the winter, 
"Where the crystal waters roll." 

Angel voices tremble round me, 

Soft repeating o'er my name ; 
Angel hands are laid upon me, 

Thrilling all my ardent frame ; 
And in fancy 
All life's paths are bright with fame. 

Come, ye muses ! Come, ye muses ! 

From your high Delphian hill ; 
Breathe your heavenly spirit through me ; 

Let me wait upon ye still. 
Let the world be 
Silent, listening to your will. 



Fredericksburgh. 
decoeation day, 1883. 



'Tis early spring and love is king, 
For all the woods with music ring ; 
And as of yore T tread once more 
The pathways of my native shore. 

The balmy air floats rich and rare 
From hills which rise serene and fair ; 
While o'er them lies the unclouded skies, 
With azure hues of paradise. 

The rippling rills laugti through the hills, 
For winter's hand no longer chills ; 
The spring complete showers at my feet 
The cherry blossoms fair and sweet. 



Joyous and free doth Acqnia flee 

In silver ripples to the sea ; 

From beds of snow it falls to flow 

Through valleys where the violets blow. 

The quaint old town is nestled down 
Among the hills which tower around ; 
As some stern guard they watch and ward 
These quiet valleys of the Lord. 

How great the change since yonder range 
Was crowned with guns and banners strange ; 
And miles on miles, in long defiles, 
Two hosts swept down these mountain aisles. 

One wore the blue, a royal hue ; 
The other gray, as strong and true : 
A shadow falls o'er these white walls, 
The sprite of hate and discord calls. 

I hear the beat of steady feet 
Pressing along each stony street ; 
The rolling drum proclaims they come. 
And Nature's songs grow still and dumb. 

Night shrouds the plain, and night must wane 
Ere brother's blood shall brother stain ; 
In lurid rays the camp fires blaze 
On mountain sides, through misty haze. 

And like a ghost from post to post — 
A watcher o'er the sleeping host — 
The sentinel glides round to tell 
The watching stars that all is well. 



Night whirls away, the morning gray 
Slow blushes into golden day ; 
Now shrill and clear the soldiers hear 
The trumpet blasts spread far and near. 

The camp so still begins to thrill 
With all the throes of life ; and chill 
From those fair peaks the cold blast breaks 
Upon the soldiers' grizzled cheeks. 

now life abounds ! The tocsin sounds ; 
The chieftain gallops on his rounds ; 
Cry after cry pierces the sky 
From men who dared to do and die. 

Men's eyes are set. their cheeks are wet ; 
The bravest hearts can ne'er forget 
Home, loved ones, friends — kind memory lends 
Each cherished face. The vision ends. 

In battle rank from flank to flank, 

Mid sabre clash and musket clank, 

The soldiers there breathe one short prayer 

Before their war shouts rend the air. 

Prepared they stand, each nerve-strung hand 
Grasps with firm clutch the battle brand ; 
Bright banners fly along the sky, 
And trumpets peal triumphantly. 

Hark ! hark ! the guns ! Our noblest sons 
Fall fast where that fierce thunder runs ^ 
A sulphurous cloud drifts, like a shroud, 
To hide the mad and struggling crowd. 



A shrieking fife sounds o'er the strife 
Where grisly death shakes hands with life ; 
And loud and high the wild war cry 
On the thick murk goes hurrying by. 

Men charge^retreat — like waves which meet 
To separate. How the drums beat ! 
The leaders cry ! Men fall and die, 
And still the shout is victory 

Quick, sharp and short comes the report 
Of musketry — steeds neigh and snort — 
Columns are formed, and heights are stormed, 
And held awhile and then re-stormed. 

A change must come. The noisy drum 
Forgets to beat. The fife grows dumb ; 
The cannons fail, and on the gale 
Sweeps by the soldiers' dying wail. 

And on that plain, from every vein. 
Brothers have shed their blood like rain ; 
The blessed night shuts out the sight 
Which testifies the nation's blight. 



They sleep ! They sleep ! We may not weep ; 
Each patriot pulse beats strong and deep 
Over their grave. Each died to save 
What he thought right ; and all were brave. 

These sons of fame — what tongue of shame 
Would dare malign their souls of flame ! 
Nay, let us bring the flowers of spring 
To deck their graves while Peace is king. 



23 



My visions cease — I find release — 
White wings float round and whisper "Peace ;" 
The gales which beat so rare and sweet 
Drift cherry petals at my feet. 

These scented gales along these vales 
No longer bear the nation's wails ; 
Above each tomb the white flowers bloom 
And fill the air with rich perfume. 

And here I lie all quietly, 
And watch the sunny hours go by ; 
These glorious hills my being thrills 
With love of life time never chills. 



Sonnet. 



Slow from the west the sunbeams fade away; 
Eastward I watch the purple veil of night 
Drawn up the sky to overspread the light ; 

The shades of darkness triumph over day. 

The song of birds is stilled ; through twilight gray 
The everlasting stars are shining bright 
In peaceful concord from unfathomed height, 

Watching the restless hours glide away. 

The lowing herds are waiting for their food ; 
The plowboy whistles, glad his work is done ; 

By chimney lug the brown-faced farmer waits 
Till the warm meal is ready for his brood ; 

In the far distance sounds the creaking gates ; 
The work of day is o'er. Night is begun. 



The Old Man's Prayefu 



The Spring had clothed the earth with green ; 

The stars were in the sky, 
And sweet was nature's evening scene 

Unto the poet's eye : 
Through Austin's wood I wandered forth, 

Along a lonely way, 
And found an old and wrinkled man. 

Who there had come to pray, 

THE PEAYER. 

" Around me, sweet and softly fall 

The sighings of the wood ; 
I hear the watching night-owl call 

In vernal solitude : 
The shadows overtop the hill 

And make the evening gray. 
And stars come out as slowly fade 

The dying beams of day. 

How softly comes the balmy wind, 

And breathes upon my cheek ; 
Each baser passion dies away, 

And spirits seem to speak. 
Slow humming on the evening air 

The busy insects drone ; 
And twilight falls — I pour my prayer 

To Thee, O Lord, alone. 

Back, through the vista of the past. 

My restless spirit roves ; 
How sweet for one to kneel and hold 

Pure thoughts of those he loves ; 



25 



For in the dimness gathering round 

Old memories are revived ; 
And all the roses I have found 

Are of their thorns deprived. 

Now fills the soul of man for man 

With universal love, 
And all the passions of the heart 

Draw nigher heaven above ; 
And purified of baseness, 

The heart dotli realize 
That he who judges man is judged 

By One within the skies. 

Dear Lord, into Thy presence I 

Come, tremblingly and slow ; 
My weaknesses, my many sins, 

I feel that Thou dost know ; 
Whatever is of good has been 

Thy perfect gift to me ; 
Whatever evil I have done 

Lies open, Lord, to thee. 

Around me are the moments, Lord, 

Which Thou dost freely give ; 
Before me are my future hours, 

Through which I yet must live ; 
Behind me, like a little span, 

Lie those already past. 
Dark with the shadow which Thy great 

Eternity has cast. 

Lord, Thou dost know the lot of man ; 
Subject to doubt and sin — 



26 



He may resolve to work for good 

Yet evil enters in. 
Before me pass in long review, 

My actions of the past, 
And, aided by Thy light, I view 

My life and stand aghast. 

Here in this solitude I see 

How thoughtless I have been ; 
H.ow little of the pure and good 

In my past life is seen. 
Oh ! make me, Lord, a holy man, 

Through future years to run 
On tireless feet along thy paths. 

Unto my setting sun. 

From day to day, from year to year. 

Still may I think of good, 
And what the eternal life shall be ; 

Here in this solitude 
I dedicate my life to thee : 

Take Thou, and sow the seed ; 
Make me, in years I yet shall see, 

A man in truth and deed. 

With Faith, with honest Charity, 

That graspeth all mankind ; 
With eyes of love, yet bold and free, 

Whenever I may find 
One who has wandered far from Thee 

With warped and mocking mind, 
To lead him by the hand to good 

Which Thou hast here designed ; 



To feed the poor, to visit those 

Who are with woe distressed ; 
I feel in blessing others I, 

By Thee, will still be blessed. 
Let me not talk of love, and fail 

To give love's blessed gifts ; 
For he who helpeth man is blessed, 

Rising with those he lifts. 

Those merry stars remind me. Lord, 

That night is setting in ; 
They tell, like verses in Thy word, 

There is a heaven to win. 
I homeward gO, and feel my hour 

Has not been spent in vain, 
Since in the wildwood's shady bower 

Thy love is mine again. 



The Serenade. 



Young William, prince of youthful sports. 

Had learned to strum the light guitar. 
And sallied forth one summer eve, 

While brightly gleamed (he evening star, 
Unto a large and stately pile, 

Where dwelt a dear and beauteous maid, 
Who deigned to bless him with her smile ; 

He sought her for a serenade. 

How blithe is youth ! He hummed a tune ; 

'Smiles chased each other o'er his face ; 
The faintly gleaming crescent moon 

Lit up his form, whose youthful grace 



Cheered all who saw him ; and with joy, 

Fearless of ill, our hero came, 
With all the glad heart of a boy, 

Beneath his loved one's window-frame. 

The heavens were clear ; the golden hues 

Of sunset lingered in the skies, 
As life's rich fragrance thrills the rose 

With sweetest perfume ere it dies. 
Upon the emerald grass the dew 

Fell from the spreading twilight gray, 
And joyously the swallow flew, 

Twittering to cheer the dying day. 

She heard the first sweet chords he smote. 

Seated behind the window-shade ; 
She heard the first faint quavering note 

His trembling, loving larynx made. 
And in the shadows, unbetrayed. 

She softly threw the window up, 
As round the corner, on a raid, 

-Appeared her father's bull-dog pup. 

The song he sang was pure and clear — 

Sweet words, set to a noble tune ; 
It thrilled the balmy atmosphere. 

Beneath that faint and crescent moon. 
Swift strayed his fingers o'er the strings. 

With melody the guitar rang. 
And like an angel, minus wings. 

Melodiously our hero sang. 



THE SONG. 

" How can I leave thee, dearest maid ? 

Thou art my life, my light, my sun ; 
When evening veils the world in shade, 

I seek thine eyes, my darling one. 
The sunlight of thy blessed smile. 

Fair, lovely maid, is dear to me 
As some rich, fruitful summer isle 

To shipwrecked sailor on the sea. 

" How can I leave thee ? Let thine eyes 

Grlance from thy lattice bower and fall 
On one who, loving, faints and dies, 

Yet e'en in dying thy name doth call. 
Oh ! sweet as ever poet's verse 

In tenderest strain has said or sung, 
Why should love be man's direst curse. 

Or hearts with purest hopes be wrung ? 

" Hear me, sweet maid ! As yonder moon 

Faints in the dark and wandering sea, 
So on the atmosphere of tune 

My life leaps forth to die in thee. 
No longer bid my spirit grieve ; 

Accept my passion, pure and strong ; 
Accept my heart ; 'twill ne'er deceive ; 

Accept this simple gift of song." 

So sang he ; so he might have sung, 
Perhaps, through all that lovely night. 

Had not the pup, with beefy tongue 
And firm- set teeth of pearly white. 



30 



Sprung from his resting-place and seized 
Our young musician in the rear, 

As if to say, " I am displeased," 

And want no "wandering minstrels" here. 

And William flew on lightning wing ; 

Forgotten was the serenade : 
He wanders forth no more to sing 

At evening to the tender maid. 
And, filled with pride, the bull-dog strong, 

Unto her " sisters, cousins, aunts," 
Bears 'twixt his teeth the gift of song, 

A quarter-section of Will's pants. 



A Year's Retrospect. 



The song of the gentle bluebird 

Rings out o'er the lea again ; 
Once more I hear the dripping 

Of the softly falling rain ; 
The petals of the violet 

Are blue on the verdant hill. 
And away through the budding forest 

Steals swiftly the babbling rill. 

The call of the saucy jay-bird 

Is heard adown the glen ; 
And there, by the blooming pasture, 

Twitters and chirps the wren ; 
The meadow-lark and cat-bird 

Sing songs which they know best, 
And chatter all the sunny days, 

While they build the summer nest. 



31 



Oh, the joyful, merry spring-time! 

Unto the hopeful heart 
What pleasing, gentle fancies 

Through the being seem to start ; 
And even to one whose memories 

Are less of joy than pain 
The merry sounds of spring time 

Are never given in vain. 

All hail, the summer weather ! 

For the harvest fields are white ; 
The ripening meadows quiver 

With joy at the breezes light. 
The reapers swing their cradles, 

And sing their harvest tune, 
And the currant and the cherry 

Grrow ripe in the sunny June. 

The air is all a censer. 

With the perfume of the rose ; 
The pink, the golden buttercup, 

Each in fragrant beauty glows ; 
Bat blossoms fail and vanish, 

And beauty hastes away. 
When the winds of autumn usher in 

The season of decay. 

'Tis then the mellow peaches 
And luscious apples glow; 

Then all the heavy bunches 
Of grapes their purple show. 

The verdant leaves of summer 
Are streaked with red and gold, 



And the long and waving grasses 
G-row dry and hoar and cold. 

The birds of summer vanish ; 

The bluebird and the jay, 
And the meadow-lark and cat-bird 

Fly to the South away. 
Their nests still dangle in the trees 

To tell that they are gone, 
And the winds of autumn murmur 

That winter is coming on. 

Then falls the Indian summer ; 

A cloud of hazy blue. 
As if it fain would loiter 

In beauty ever true. 
'Tis the only friend that lingers 

After the first cold day 
To clasp the earth with its fingers. 

And bid the flowers stay. 

And then the winter cometh, 

With the rush of the dreary rain ; 
The moan of the cold wind hummeth 

A dirge on the window-pane ; 
The trees of the wood are naked 

As ghosts in a graveyard grim ; 
The skies are dreary and clouded. 

And the sun is cold and dim. 

And then when the night has fallen. 
And the wind is wailing around. 

Like the voice of some pent-up demon 
In a charnel, underground — 



33 



When the embers of the hearthstone 

Have lost their radiant glow, 
And the measured breath of the sleepers 

In the apartments sounds so low, 

On the hearth the dreary cricket 

Begins a dismal strain, 
Like a disappointed spirit 

Sighing a song of pain 
O'er hopes once warm and glorious, 

Now faded, cold and still — 
And as the cricket ceases 

My heart grows weak and chill. 

And my head droops down to my fingers, 

And I listen to the moan 
Of the solemn night-wind wailing 

In a ceaseless dirge-like tone ; 
And I gaze at the dying embers, 

And wonder if even a stone 
Is colder than this world of ours 

To those who tread it alone. 



The Medical Student. 



Derided, spit upon and shunned, he stands 
The world's Pariah ; and to desert lands 
Of bad society by custom driven. 
Longing for social joys, he wanders unforgiven, 
The scorn of some, a terror unto many, 
Shunned by the great, and never cheered by any. 
Onward he goes to learn the healing art, 
Unmindful of the scandal-monger's dart. 
Thrown to transfix its poison in his heart. 



A wondrous soul is in him ; he doth see 
Good in the years that yet for him shall be, 
And climbs the heights of knowledge to behold 
Upon the mountain the great crock of gold, 
Buried near Hope's bright rainbow; there he 

learns 
Fair nature's subtle laws ; and he discerns 
The promise in the egg ; the tiny cell, 
Beneath his searching glance, its tale doth tell 
Of future being ; with the shining knife 
He cuts the tissues once built up by life, 
And traces back effect unto its cause, 
And solves enigmas and applies their laws. 
He sees corruption blend with dust again 
The glorious tenements, the homes of men. 
Which life once nourished. The intricate brain, 
From which thought ran in an unending chain, 
Reading the secrets of a firmament 
Where Boundless Power His love and beauty 

spent. 
His scalpel severs, and reveals the rare. 
Frail instrument of knowledge. He doth spare 
No organ ; in that deep analysis, 
Which draws up knowledge out of night's abyss. 
Tissue from tissue he doth separate, 
Till his brain reels beneath the awful weight 
Of nature's marvel, man's mysterious frame. 
Linked to that subtle and most delicate flame. 
The human soul. In him the youthful heart 
Beats strong with youthful passions ; but the art 
Which brings concealment from an act of guile 
Is never his. The accomplished wretch may smile 



35 



A pious smile, and do a devilish deed ; 

But candor is the student's, and doth lead 

Him in the path of honor ; he atones 

For all his evil, and the rugged stones 

Which lie along the pathway of deceit 

Ne'er leave their scars and bruises on his feet. 

Derided as all evil, he doth bear 

His cross uncaring ; or if he doth care 

He' 'murmurs not. The bounding blood which 

warms 
His youthful breast doth make him laugh at 

storms 
Which roar, but kill not. That best benison, 
A joyous heart, pulsates within his breast. 
And bids him laugh at those who smite his crest 
With words of slander. Standing on the brink 
Of boundless knowledge, which falls link by link 
Out of infinite realms, obscure and dim, 
What are the sneers and jeers of men to him ? 
Science to him unfolds the wondrous stores 
Of golden knowledge ; on the curving shores 
Of that great ocean where, with constant beat, 
The infinite sea casts at our finite feet 
Its shells and pebbles in the form of truth, 
He walks to gather facts, which yet shall lead 
Him to the fields of suffering and need. 

He stands in close relationship to that 

Vague mystery — death. Where strange silence 

sat 
Its seal upon men's foreheads, he doth stand. 
An earnest seeker in that lonely land. 



36 



Gazing upon the tenements so grand 
In their last awful stillness ; so his youth, 
Eager for knowledge, leads him to the truth ; 
His buoyancy, like sap within the root, 
Runs through life's cells to furnish fairest frait 
For life's ripe antumn. This it is doth speak 
His future greatness ; and o'er confines bleak 
Of pain and misery he yet shall rise, 
Star-like, with heavenly glory in his eyes, 
To bid men hope, to soothe the anguished form 
Writhing on sheets of suffering ; with warm 
And loving words, soothing the sick to sleep, 
And drying eyes from which the hot tears creep, 
Like rain in summer ; he through life shall wend, 
The sad one's soother and the sufferer's friend ; 
Blessed by the sick, whose praises write his name 
Above him on the marble slab of Fame. 



Address to a Star— a Soliloquy. 



Still is the night. The darkness has descended — 
Descended on my pathway like a veil 

Which falls across the face when life has ended. 
Above my head the radiant planets sail 
Thro' heaven as ships on ocean. Now the gale 

Comes, bearing the aroma summer yields 
From blooming hill and flower- scented vale. 

And lank, green grasses shimmering in the fields ; 

Then, with a good-night kiss, to other faces steal. 

The katy-did, with low, monotonous warning. 
Foretells the frosty days the earth shall see ; 



37 



The cricket in the grass chirps of the morning 

And all the sunny glory yet to be. 

The sounds of nature are as pure and free 
As nature's own appearance. While I rove 

Beneath night's firmament, that boundless sea, 
The deathless stars watch o'er me from above. 
Brooding with eyes of pity and eternal love. 

O, silvery star! Beneath thy radiant orb 
The golden sunbeams of the sun are set ; 

Roll round thy circle and let light absorb 
The darkness, where primeval night is yet 
As in that aeon when the Triune met 

To fashion thee, thou signal of the night ! 
Roll — while men's little systems chafe and fret ; 

Roll on in calm, and from conceiveless height 

Dispense on darker worlds thine everlasting light. 

The history of our little world is thine ; 

Our deepest wisdom but a thought to thee ; 
For thou hast seen all races of mankind 

Which time has swept into Eternity. 

All things are lost within that boundless sea, 
And thou hast seen them vanish one by one ; 

Of the dark past thou boldest the hidden key — 
The past, which hides the mysteries man has done. 
And evermore shall hide with every rounding sun. 

As I now gaze, so doubtless gazed on thee 
The first great parents of the human race ; 

Thy lucid beams descending tenderly 
Upon each eager, knowledge- seeking face. 
Mght after night, perchance, they sought to 
trace 



Thy path along the sky, and 'neath thy light, 

When sin had come, with slow and weary pace, 
Mayhap, they passed from Eden into night. 
And Paradise was lost forever to their sight. 

Assyria passed before thee, and became 

As though she ne'er had been. And Babylon, 
As if to put all former thrones to shame, 

Displayed her glittering glories to the sun. 

Her valorous kings great power and honor won, 
But thou didst shine after their sun had set ; 

Nineveh, the Proud, 'neath thee her course has 
run ; 
Thou sawest old Ocean's hoary billows fret 
In those historic days as they are fretting yet. 

The summits of the Pyramids to th«e 

Shone when thy slanting star-beams fell athwart 

The sandy desert. It was thine to see 
Great Egypt when she glowed the busy mart 
Of all the nations. Thou didst cheer the heart 

Of that great sculptor who has carved in stone 
The glorious Sphinx — that masterpiece of art — 

That watches on the desert there alone. 

And preaches greater things than any human tone. 

There Thebes and Heliopolis went out ; 

Palmyra wasted 'neath Time's glittering sword ; 
Religions recognized were put to doubt. 

And gods forgotten that men once adored. 

Wisdom flowed over Greece like water poured 
From silver fountains, and Rome, unswept 

By Frank or Yandal, precious knowledge stored 



39 



In many granaries, till Alaric lept 
Down from his mountain heiglits, and human cul- 
ture slept. 

Thus shrines have risen and shrines have fall'n 
to dust ; 
Thus kings have ruled and kings have lost their 
power, 
And generations passed, as still they must 
Until that last and world-dissolving hour. 
Minds have met minds, and thus evolved the 
flower 
Of thought, and Science growing through the years 

Has served to 'stablish an Eternal power 
Which all the Universe of realms uprears, 
Which made the worlds of space and guides them 
in their spheres. 

And as I gaze on thee my soul is taught 

Of my Creator a grand simile ; 
Thou seest all things that the years have wrought, 

And yet thou art the same continually. 

Thou roundest in thy orbit, and to me. 
Even while I gaze, thy twinklings seem to play 

With all the mildness of infinity, 

Alike upon the upright in thy way, 
And on the wicked wretch who, trembling, shuns 
the day. 

And I go forward, trusting, in my calm, 
That thou reflectest some faint light which 
shines 
From the dear face of Him whose child I am. 



40 



About thee all my spirit intertwines, 
And in each starry world my soul divines 
That everlasting music which was made, 

First, when the different stars took up their lines 
Through that dark firmament where God has laid 
The finger of His power, and all His power dis- 
played. 

Roll on ! Roll on forever ! Glorious sphere ! 

My deepest longings can not climb to thee. 
For all my soul is passion-burdened here. 

Gain thou — from every age — new mystery. 

And gaining, nearer grow to Deity. 
My faint hope is in some far age to grow 

With master souls — and in new worlds to see 
All that eternal spirits learn and know — 
And walk upon thy breast as I walk earth below. 

May, 1882. 



The Girl I Love. 



Dear as my life is she 1 love ; 
She loves me for myself alone ; 

Not wealth, or ancient pedigree, 
Or blood descended from a throne ; 

Her heart's a gentle, trusting heart ; 
Her mind's a truthful loving mind ; 

And she will bear an earnest share 
In every care of human kind. 

Her hands are ready unto good, 
And through her suffering finds relief ; 

She stills the heated strife of blood. 
And dries the heart-felt tear of grief : 



She is no brawler ; does not spread 
The flames of gossip on the air ; 

Her name unflecked, her self respect 
And intellect shine everywhere. 

I know not if she's beautiful, 
But there's a glory in her eyes, 

A light that's never sad or dull, 
Chaste as the violet's vernal dyes ; 

Her neck is stately, and her cheeks 
Like pinks with modest crimson glow, 

Her face is fair, her waving hair 
Is rich and rare as flowers that blow. 

And when in Hymen's chains we're bound 
We'll trusting go adown life's river ; 

And if the storm winds rudely blow 
We still will trust and love forever. 

With hearts still bent to golden deeds. 
With minds e'er bright with nature's glow. 

Though we are dust, we still will trust 
That God, the Just, our way will show. 

And if I had a prince's dower 
I'd deck her with the costliest gems ; 

And if I had a monarch's power 
I'd crown her brow with diadems ; 

But she who keeps an earnest soul 
And honest heart in low estate, 

Not Fortune's dower, nor silken bower, 
With empress power, could make more great. 



Carrie Lee. 

Sweet Carrie Lee ! Dead Carrie Lee ! 

I bless and mourn the hour 
Since first I felt the joy and bliss 

That love's warm hand can shower ; 
It has been many years ago, 

And you are far away ; 
But while I live, I'll ne'er forget 

The time we played croquet. 

I remember how the shady elms 

Their leafy arms outspread, 
And how the birds were caroling 

Their songs above our head ; 
I remember how our merry laugh 

Rang out so clear and gay, 
Whene'er we missed the wickets 

When playing at croquet. 

The gossamers were floating, 

Like'silk threads on the breeze. 
And summer zephyrs sighing 

Among the old elm trees ; 
Behind us rose the pleasant hill. 

The sky seemed far away, 
And you and I were happy. 

As we tried to play croquet. 

I know I took your hand in mine, 

And told you of my love ; 
The glory of your eyes did shine 

Like angel's eyes above ; 



43 



I bent my head to catch the sound 

Of all that you might say, 
And you know what your answer was, 

And we forgot croquet. 

Ah ! many years have come and gone 

Since you and I were there ; 
Now I am lonely, and I seem 

A stranger everywhere. 
The joys have faded from my heart, 

And not a thing seems gay, 
But I can never quite forget 

The time we played croquet. 

Sweet Carrie Lee ! Dead Carrie Lee ! 

I bless and mourn the hour 
Since first I felt the joy and bliss 

That Love's warm hand can shower ; 
For you are with the angels now, 

In an eternal day. 
The games ye have are purer far 

Than ever was croquet. 



Sic Transit Gloria. 



She came like some full beam ; 

She flashed upon my sight 
Like glory in a dream. 

Or meteor in the night ; 
And then she passed, and night o'ercast 

My Paradise of light. 

Yet, still I seem to see 

The outlines of her face ; 



u 



Her smiles are falling free, 

And with angelic grace ; 
They lift the sad, and they make glad 

The lowest of our race. 

What land she wanders in 

My spirit cannot tell ; 
But where she lingers, Sin 

Is not, and Love doth dwell ; 
There every heart quells each base part. 

And makes a heaven of hell. 

I write this song as hers, 

Who purifies and heals ; 
Who darkest paths prefers, 

To set the blessed seals 
Of joy and love and heaven above 

On each poor heart which feels. 



A Hymn. 



How happy is the trusting soul 

Of him who knows the Lord ; 
Eternal prospects bright unfold. 

And constant joys afford. 
His heart is filled with zeal for Grod 

And love for all mankind ; 
He treads the path his Savior trod, 

And leaves his sins behind. 

The breeze from the eternal hills 

Enlivens all the air ; 
He looks beyond life's cares and ills. 

And knows that God is there. 



45 



Through all the varying scenes of life 
He moves to grasp the crown ; 

With sin he makes successful strife, 
And heaven to him comes down. 

Sure of a pure abiding-place 

He counts earth's gifts as dross ; 
Leaves life for his Redeemer's face, 

And feels no sense of loss. 
Up, up the steep and rugged hill 

Of Truth he climbs to bliss, 
And feels at last the endless thrill 

Of Love's supernal kiss. 



A Song. 



Sing not that song — it speaks of joys, 

Alas ! long since departed ; 
How can it thrill my life again 

When I am broken hearted ? 
The dove across the watery waste 

Flies home with hope of land to-morrow 
She bears the olive spray which brings 

Joy to the eyes of weeping sorrow. 
For me, alas ! sing not that song ; 

It tells of joys long since departed, 
And woe and pain alone remain, 

Companions of the broken hearted. 

For me, across life's dreary sea, 

No messenger, returning. 
Can bring one leaf to satisfy 

My poor heart's ceaseless yearning. 



46 



The present thought of what we are, 

And thinking of our young life's promise, 
Reveals how sadly time will mar, 

And tells what hopes were taken from us. 
Then, oh ! for me sing not that song ; 

It tells of joys long since departed. 
And woe and pain alone remain, 

Companions of the broken-hearted. 



As Springs UtsrTO Their Levels Rise. 

As springs unto their levels rise, 

So upward springs the soul ; 
As buds betray their beauteous dyes. 

Thus, unchecked, minds unfold, 
And spirits of ambition quell 

The powers of sung, or woven spell. 

Waked into action, thought springs out 

Swifter than beams of light : 
Boundless by time, or space, or fate, 

It ranges every height, 
Rejoicing in immortal powers. 

And fearless of the night. 



The Weary Poet. 



There was a man — his name is naught — 
I knew him once — I know him now — 
Who searched the very soul of thought, 
And placed fair wisdom on his brow : 



Grlad were Ms eyes ; fair Nature's face 
"Was unto Mm a silvered glass, 
In which, in all her forms of grace, 
He saw the sprite of knowledge pass. 

The song of birds, the gleam of seas, 

The scent of flowers ; each changing hue 

Of autumn's tints upon the trees. 

When drooped the year with age shot through 

The emerald ferns in tangled brakes. 
The gurgling song and silver sheen 
Of some sweet brook, which softly takes 
Its way to sea 'twixt banks of green, 

Were all for him. His heart and frame 
Caught all of Nature's wondrous glee. 
And some sweet spirit sang of fame 
Within his heart continually. 

He sought to set his thoughts to speech ; 
He pleased the world, his music rang, 
And all admired his power to teach, 
Cheered by the glorious strains he sang. 

Ah ! woe for him ! His dream has fled ; 
His life is changed ; his hope is o'er ; 
The strains the nightingale has shed 
Will startle from his throat no more. 

By adverse currents tossed about, 
Beaten by billows from the strand. 
He roams upon a sea of doubt, 
With memories of a better land, 



And one faint hope, tliat mid new scenes, 
Of greener lands and milder spring. 
Each cloud shall fade that intervenes 
And sweeter songs be his to sing — 

Where purer breezes fan the hills, 
And under skies more fair and broad. 
The muse which through his nature thrills 
May wake a song that pleases God. 



The Husband to His Dead Wife. 



'Tis many a weary day, love, * 

Since you were by my side ; 
I'm thinking o'er how long it's been 

Since you became my bride : 
My memory goes roaming back 

O'er our short life of glee, 
And though the world may call you dead. 

You are not dead to me. 

I sit beside my chimney place, 

And read my books alone ; 
I fancy I can hear your step 

Upon the old hearth-stone : 
I feel your spirit at my side. 

And long to hear you speak ; 
Again your eyes gaze into mine, 

My kiss falls on your cheek. 

We had our trials — who has not. 
Who treads this changing sphere ? 

We had our woes — where is the eye 
Tears have not moistened here ? 



49 



O'er balby forms hot tears were shed, 
Our prayers too rose on high 

To God, to guard our darlings dead, 
And bear them to the sky. 

Now thou art gone, and there remains, 

Through all my coming years. 
The sense of loneliness, the pains 

Of woe, the bitter tears 
For pleasure past : — the power to pray 

That we again shall meet, 
Where Love eternal lights the way 

At the dear Savior's feet. 

No more on earth I'll see your face, 

Except through Fancy's aid ; 
For in my dreams at night I trace 

Thy features there displayed : 
And though men tell me you are dead, 

With me you still must live 
In every holy memory 

That love and youth can give. 



Rest at Home. 

A SOISTG. 



There is work for all to do, 
Then there's rest at home ; 

"We must toil life's journey through, 
Then there's rest at home. 

Rest at home ; rest at home ; 
We shall see our Father's face 

When we rest at home. 



50 



There's the orphan's tears to dry, 
Then there's rest at home ; 

We must check the mourner's sigh. 
Then there's rest at home, 

Rest at home ; rest at home ; 

We shall have our Father's smile 

When we rest at home. 

Nestled in the arms of love. 

When we rest at home ; 
Endless joy around, above, 

When we rest at home. 
Rest at home ; rest at home ; 

God will bid oar sighing cease 
When we rest at home. 



The Years of the Long Ago. 



The April winds were blowing, 

And the violet in bloom. 
And the daisy, and the cherry. 

Exhaling sweet perfume ; 
Way down in the grassy pasture. 

Where the earliest flowers blow, 
I met my future destiny, 

In the years of the long ago. 

And the sweet smiles rippled over 
Her face, so fair and true ; 

Long aiid black was her wavy hair, 
Her eyes the deepest blue : 

Her form y^as faultlessly perfect ; 
And her voice was so soft and low, 



51 



I loved her when first I met her, 
In the years of the long ago. 

Together we rambled often, 

And time flew fast away ; 
Sweet April passed, and we two basked 

In the bright sunshine of May : 
I felt that aching of the heart 

Which only true lovers know ; 
When I thought that we must separate, 

In the years of the long ago. 

Thus passed away the month of May, 

And in the month of June 
I told her the true love of my heart, 

Beneath the rounded moon ; 
I told her all my love for her, 

'Neath the moon-beams' radiant glow, 
And she told me that she loved me, 

In the years of the long ago. 

Thus through the drowsy summer days. 

Wiling away the hours ; 
Watching the golden butterflies 

Sipping dew from the flowers ; 
Bathed in the light of sunset. 

We watched the bright river flow ; 
Thus days flew on 'till summer was gone, 

In the years of the long ago. 

Our hearts beat high and merrily, 
To love's soft, pleasant strain ; 

We did not know the wine of bliss 
Was mixed in the cup of pain ; 



Nor did we think such joy as ours 
Would be darkened by clouds of woe, 

For we knew not of the reaper — Death — 
In the years of the long ago. 

The elm leaves were dripping 

With dews of an Autumn morn, 
The winds of the mild September 

Were rustling the golden corn, 
When a pall of sable velvet, 

And a face as white as the snow. 
Were borne from the low-roofed farm house. 

In the years of the long ago. 

They laid her 'neath the cedar tree, 

The cedar ever green ; 
And her grave lies toward the yellow fields, 

Which lusty reapers glean ; 
And beyond are the giant mountains, 

With their peaks of glistening snow, 
And dark pines lining their jagged base, 

And a river rolling below. 

Alas ! our dream of happiness ! 

Alas ! our faded dream ! 
Life is a phantom — a shadow — 

And love — a vanishing gleam. 
The years are a blank without an aim, 

For my heart is so full of woe ; 
All I can do is weep when I think 

Of the years of the long ago. 



53 



She is gone away beyond recall, 

And I walk the hills alone ; 
No more shall I hear her silv'ry laugh, 

'No more be cheered by her tone ; 
And so my face is still and calm, 

For my sorrow I will not show. 
But my heart love was buried with her 

In the years of the long ago. 



The Girl I Met in Calico. 



I met her in the summer time, 

When earth was clad in gorgeous livery, 
When every streamlet spake a rhyme 

That lulled my senses into reverie ; 
The meadows were all green around, 

I felt the tender breezes blowing, 
She smiled upon me like a star 

Upon a darkened pathway glowing. 

EEFEAIN. 

The girl I met in calico — The girl I met in calico — 
I never, never can forget the girl I met in calico. 

Her eyes were bright as summer dew 

That hangs upon the rose at morning ; 
Her hair was like the golden fringe 

The feathery summer cloud adorning ; 
Her cheeks were like the peaches' bloom ; 

Like buds her pouting lips were swelling ; 
Her laugh was like the sound of bells 

At evening o'er the waters knelling. 
Refeaijst. — The girl I met, etc. 



54 



We sat together in the groves, 

We heard the partridge calling ; 
The noisy flutter of the birds 

Mingled with distant waters falling ; 
The pheasant drummed up on the log ; 

The jay-bird called, the woods resounded. 
And our low voices rose and joined 

With the soft noises that surrounded. 

Refeain. — The girl I met, etc. 

We walked together o'er the mead, 

And rested 'neath the bowers ; 
Our souls did not espy the weeds 

Which grew among life's flowers ; 
Our love was like a rapid stream 

Which flows to join the mighty river, 
Down lapsing to the sea of love 

Which rolls around the world forever. 

Eefrain. — The girl I met, etc. 

So unto her my heart was given ; 

To her that heart is leal ; 
She is the sun of life's small heaven. 

All else is the unreal. 
And while my bounding blood shall surge. 

Till death's dark wave shall overflow, — 
I'll love unto life's farthest verge 

The girl I met in calico. 

Refeain. — The girl I met, etc. 

May, 1877. 



Orpheus and Eurydice. 



The story of Orpheus and Eurydice is related by the Latin 
poets Virgil and Ovid . 

Orpheus is a musician and poet of Grecian mythology, who 
possessed the divine gift of moving animate and inanimate ob- 
jects by the power of his song. Crazed by the loss of Eurydice, 
he obtains permission to seek her in Pluto's realm, the God of 
the infernal regions, and brother of Jupiter and Saturn. 

Here he witnesses the sufferings of the condemned. Sisy- 
phus rolling a great stone up an endless height ; Ixion bound to 
the wheel; Tantalus eternally cursed with hunger and thirst; 
the Furies ; Cerberus, the great three-headed watch dog of hell ; 
the Belides striving to carry water in leaky urns; all types of 
beings who suffer in the Grecian hell. 

The result of Orpheus' mission I have striven to give in the 
following lines : 

When gathering night 

Shuts out the light, 

And hides the landscape from my sight, 

Fond memory 

Brings back to me 

Legends of Greece and Italy. 

I read once more 

The stories o'er 

That thrilled my heart in days of yore ; 

Along my brain 

They creep and chain 

My mind, and thrill my heart again. 

That ancient time 

Of love and crime, 

When blood was hot as the summer's clime ; 

When Greece was free, 

Or Italy 

Sat, queenlike, ruling land and sea. 



The fireliglit dies ; 

Weird shadows rise ; 

Deep slumber settles o'er my eyes. 

I dream and see 

The misery 

Of Orpheus and Eurydice. 

I hear his prayer 

Rise on the air 

For one removed so young and fair. 

His plaintive cry 

Pierces the sky 

And thrills the hearts of Gods on high. 

And o'er his head 

These words are shed : 

"Go seek her mid the shadowy dead ; 

Where horrors creep 

Pluto doth keep 

The souls of those who fall asleep." 

* * ^ * * * 

He did not wait ; 

He passed the gate 

Dividing men from future state ; 

Unawed by fear, 

Through regions drear 

He passed in love's fond search for her — 

The one beloved — 

So late removed 

From scenes where they together roved. 

Through regions vast 

He boldly passed 

Where death rode on each chilling blast ; 



57 



Forms fierce and grim, 

Though vague and dim, 

Along his path frowned down on him. 

Through these he came 

'Till light and flame 

Revealed the misery and shame 

Of Pluto's land. 

On every hand 

Stern shapes in awful grandeur stand ; 

To whom are given 

The spirits driven 

By judgment from the fields of heaven ; 

Those who, unblessed. 

Find not their rest 

Among the "Islands of the Blessed." 

Before him shone 

Grreat Pluto's throne, 

Circled with fire — a mount of stone. 

% * ^ ¥: ^ . ^ 

There frowned the chief, 

Nor pain, nor grief, 

Through him had ever known relief. 

And filling air 

Were spirits there 

Who through all space his mandates bear. 

A hateful brood 

The Furies stood, 

Laughing in hellish solitude. 

Hell's hideous hound 

Bayed, and around 

Through caves of night echoed the sound. 



Througli all that drear, 

Yagae vast, the ear 

The sigh, the groan, tlie moan could hear. 

Faces of woe 

Earth can not show. 

And ne'er has shown, toiled there below ; 

Tantalus there 

Drooped in despair. 

A cooling stream ran fresh and fair. 

And yet in vain 

He strove to gain 

The brink and quench his thirst and pain. 

Whirling fore'er 

In anguish drear, 

Ixion rose and fell in air. 

No hope of rest 

E'er thrilled his breast — 

Amid the unblessed most unblessed. 

Against his will — 

But rolling still 

Up the steep grade of a high hill 

A massive stone 

To heights unknown — 

Toiled Sisyphus, with grief and groan. 

No rest, no peace — 

There never cease 

The pangs of ill — there no release 

The soul can cheer — 

There pain and fear 

Vibrate the sulphurous atmosphere. 



59 



Dark Pluto gazed, 

Dismayed, amazed, 

On Orpheus — tlien his features blazed 

With deadly hate ; 

"Rise, Queens of Fate, 

And seize this child of earthly state. 

Who, undismayed, - 

Has dared invade 

In mortal guise this nether shade ; 

For 'tis designed 

The human mind 

'That enters here leaves hope behind.' " 

But what is this ? 

A note of bliss 

Sweeps through the desolate abyss. 

Oh, blissful noise ! 

'Tis Orpheus' voice, 

Which makes the fiends of hell rejoice. 

In music's chains 

Pluto remains 

Bound to his throne, forgetting pains ; 

While powerless 

To writhe or hiss 

The dragon listens, lulled with bliss. 

Still swelled the song 

O'er that fierce throng ; 

It rose sublime and echoed long. 

Clear as a lark 

Which flies to mark 

The rising dawn while yet 'tis dark. 



So his notes leaped 

Like light, and swept 

Through hell's dark depths. The Furies wept 

For the first time. 

The song sublime 

Rolled on and purified of crime 

The souls of hell. . 

Sweet as a bell, 

Now faint, now loud arose the swell 

Of every note 

From that clear throat, 

Upon whose breath Love lay afloat 

Like some frail bark 

On waters dark, 

Drifting with nought but stars to mark 

Its onward course. 

The baying, hoarse, 

Of Cerberus was stilled. The force 

Of hell, which chained 

Ixion, deigned 

To pause awhile, and then remained ; 

Enchanted by 

The melody, 

Sisyphus checked the stone on high. 

The wave accursed 

No longer nursed 

In Tantalus his awful thirst ; 

Unheeded by 

The stream did fly. 

Nor woke the memory of a sigh. 



61 



He touclied each heart 

And made depart 

Each bitter pang. He stilled the smart 

Of years of pain, 

And love again 

Thrilled through the soul and roused the brain. 

His fervid theme 

Was love ; the dream 

Of dawning youth. When life did seem 

A holiday — 

And far away 

Sorrow upon the horizon lay. 

"But now," sang he, 

"She walks by me, 

Searching for my Eurydice. 

Come back to me ! 

Come back to me ! 

My own beloved Eurydice !" 

And love's sweet word 

Flew like a bird 

Through regions dark. The maiden heard. 

Loosed from her foes 

Her spirit rose 

Upon his breast to find repose ; 

Like light she swept, 

She ran, she leaped 

Into his arms, and there she wept ; 

As a scared dove 

From storms above 

Flies to its home, she sought her love. 



62 



Then Pluto cried : 

"Take thou thy bride ; 

For love is stronger than the tide - 

Of Death's cold wave ; 

Beyond the grave 

The hand of love doth reach and save." 

Yet hark to Fate : 

"Pass through the gate 

Dividing men from future state. 

Forsake this shade ; 

Lead thou the maid 

And look not back — a curse is laid 

"On him who flies 

To other skies, 

Yet at the verge of Paradise 

Turns back to view 

Scenes just passed through. 

When all before is bright and new. 

"And so in hell 

Doth work the spell. 

If ye turn not all will be well — 

But if ye fail. 

To this dark vale 

The maid returns to weep and waiL" 

He clasped her form, 

He placed his arm 

About her shoulders soft and warm ; 

He kissed her cheek, 

And pure and meek 

Her great love mantled on her cheek. 



63 



"Lead on," said she ; 

Then started he 

From that low vale of misery ; 

Forward he fled, 

As swift she sped 

Behind him from the shadowy dead. 

His song beguiled 

The passage wild, 

And still enchained the demons smiled. 

N"o stop, no stay — 

They make their way 

Through regions vast ; at last the day 

Blesses their eyes ; 

Before them rise 

Some gloomy hills ; beyond them lies 

Sweet Liberty. 

0, they shall be 

So happy when from Death set free ! 

And gladly she 

Doth follow ; he 

Up the steep hill climbs toilfully. 

Thrilled with delight 

He gains the height, 

And thoughtless turns : that moment night 

Fell over all, 

Like a great pall. 

His anxious love had turned to call 

Her name too soon ; 

The precious boon 

Won by the melody of tune 



64 



"Was lost — and she, 

Eurydice, 

Could never, never more be free. 

Back — back. Fate led ; 

His arms were spread 

To catch her, but in vain ; the dread. 

Strong will of Fate 

Drew her. Too late 

He realized with awful weight 

His thoughtless act : 

She slow retracked 

The path just passed; all anguish racked 

Her glorious face, 

Yet he could trace 

Forgiveness there ; with weary pace 

She slow returned ; 

His bosom yearned 

To follow her. Her last look burned 

Like a great light, 

For pure and bright 

Love crimsoned o'er each feature white. 

Then the fair face 

Sank into space, 

And darkness reigned without a trace 

Of his dear one. 

His dream was done : 

Eternal night shut out the sun. 

* * * ^ 4fr •5fr 

Now, evermore. 

He haunts the shore, 

Calling the maiden o'er and o'er. 



65 



By rippling rills, 

O'er verdant Mils, 

At eventide Ms sad voice thrills. 

The azure sea 

And verdant lea 

Echo his cry : "Come back to me. 

Eurydice — 

Eurydice — 

My own beloved, come back to me !" 



Vision of Poverty. 

A JOUENEY INTO THE REALMS OF FANCY. 



] had a vision while I slept : 

Night's ebon shades around me crept, . 

While wandering lovers softly stept. 

And crushed the dew ; 
And the eternal planets swept 

The boundless blue. 

Fair Fancy passed before my face ; 

She bade me rise and leave my place ; 

She whispered, " You have found my grace. 

And I will show 
The airy realms of endless space 

My footsteps know." 

Her face was that of one I knew, 

With whom I walked life's journey through. 

Whose heart to mine beat ever true : 

Oh whom the breath 
Of him who rides the pale steed blew. 

Whom men call Death. 



Joyous I rose and followed her ; 

Her voice made music in my ear ; 

The air was rich with cloves and myrrh 

And cassia buds, 
And bright birds' songs came sweet and clear 

From dark, green woods. 

Through long, dark curves of emerald shade, 
In silvery gleams, the moonlight played ; 
Some fairy hand a home had made 

Of endless bliss. 
And Love on Beauty's lip had laid 

His purest kiss. 

I walked where every thing was fair ; 
There fell no shadow of despair ; 
Frail spires uprose and pierced the air ; 

An opal glow 
Fell from the heavens, bathing there 

All things below. 

We wandered through that perfect light ; 
It was not day— yet was not night ; 
But all things shone around me bright. 

Above — beneath — 
Until a spectre met my sight 

As grim as death. 

Full armed she was and glowered in wrath ; 
She stood as to dispute my path ; 
Her eyes such eyes as hunger hath, 

A flaming gleam ; 
And through her body on the strath 

Fell light's pale beam. 



67 



There was no flesh on any bone ; 
The skin their whiteness hid alone ; 
Her face was flinty as the stone 

Beneath her feet. 
If mercy in her visage shone 

I could not see't. 

Forth from her back two pinions grew, 
And, as she shook them, round me flew 
A scorching, blistering, poisoning dew, 

Which, as it fell, 
Kindled each thought my spirit knew 

With dreams of Hell. 

Her dress was scant, her limbs were bare, 
A grizzled gray her wandering hair ; 
Her mocking laugh upon the air 

Rose wild and free : 
I named her, while it echoed there, 

Fell Poverty. 

" What seek ye here ?" the vision cried : 
" Turn back, this rolling world is wide 
With many paths. The restless tide 

Of human life 
Bears other waves on which to ride 

From its dark strife." 

In fiendish tones her mocking laugh 
Rolled down across my future path. 
Waking the echoes with its wrath ; 

And twilight grey, 
With weirder scenes than darkness hath. 

Fell round my way. 



I looked around, and where, before. 

Soft lawns stretched on from shore to shore, 

Huge hills oak-crowned loomed up, and o'er 

My head were hung : 
From lofty peaks I heard the roar 

Of th' thunder's tongue. 

Then slowly all around my feet. 
As warmed by some volcanic heat, 
Like some great heart with steady beat, 

Graves seemed to rise. 
Rounded and formed for head and feet, 

To fright my eyes. 

Nothing but graves were round me spread, 
And then it seemed the vision said : 
" These sons of flame, Poverty fed. 
They wandered, often wanting bread, 

Yet felt their powers : 
From them fair Fortune ever fled. 
Yet, Ignis-fatuus like, still led 

To these cold bowers ; 

" When, reft of hope and void of Fame, 
Unwarmed by any generous flame. 
The laugh of fools, as cold and tame 

As is this stone, 
They fell my victims ; Scorn and Shame 

Were theirs alone. 

" And now I warn you to turn back : 
Why seek for fame ? this devious track 
Leads unto darkness ; and the rack 
Of grief and pain 



Waits for the wanderer in this black 
And dreary plain." 

I turned my eyes : my guardian sprite 
Rose up before me, tall and white — 
A vision beautiful and bright : 

On me she smiled, 
As when a mother with delight 

Fondles her child. 

And then I heard the deathless song 
Chanted by those whose wills were strong ; 
Who fought and struggled against wrong, 

Though weak and poor ; 
Whose spirits led the world along 

Till life was o'er : 

Who trod each bold oppressor down 

In every land, wherever found ; 

Who raised the suppliant from the ground, 

And broke his bands, 
And made earth ring with Freedom's sound 

Through all l^er lands : 

Who wrote their names on unstained scrolls- 
Grreat human-loving, generous souls ; 
Who, while th' earth in its orbit rolls, 

Shall ever live 
Upon that banner's precious folds. 

Which fame doth give : 

Who fought the battles of the just ; 
Who raised their lives above the dust ; 
Who died in action, not with rust ; 
Whose souls of flame 



Gave back to God His precious trust, 
And felt no shame. 

There Goldsmith lay entombed in rest ; 
Montgomery slumbered with the blest ; 
Keats, Chatterton and White were dressed 

In winding sheet ; 
And Burns, the strongest, sweetest, best, 

Did all complete. 

And myriad other names were there. 
Of those who clomb life's tedious stair, 
And wrote their namfes upon the fair 

And virgin page ; 
Whose names, immortal, thrill the air 

Of every age. 

Then said I, " Spite of poisonous dew. 
Which over me so late ye threw. 
Spite of the grave's surrounding you, 

Spite of the dead. 
That glorious land I mean to view 

Where Fancy led." 

She seemed to faint or fade away ; 

I cannot tell ; she did not stay ; 

She passed from sight : the twilight gray 

Blushed into light ; 
The hills sank down, and morning lay 

Around me bright. 

Out of the still and golden air 
There came a moaning of despair, 
And then I heard a voice declare : 
" 0, worthy son 



71 



Of those who climb life's mystic stair, 
March boldly on ! 

" Still dream thy everlasting dreams ; 
Make right the subject of thy themes ; 
Fear nothing here that is or seems, 

For thou shalt rise 
To bathe in Fame's eternal streams. 

And walk the skies." 



The Land of* Solitude. 



Morn trembled on the horizon ; 
The iridescent tint of dawn 
Blushed over dewy hill and lawn, 

And round me lay. 
A mild breeze from the south was drawn 

By rising day. 

Beloved Fancy walked with me, 
With joyous smiles : "I go with thee, 
For thou art worthy. Happy he 

Who, brave as thou, 
Faces his foes unfearingly ; 

Truth lights his brow." 

But see, the tint of morning dies. 
Vague darkness falls across our eyes. 
And a new land all silent lies 

Before our feet. 
Where every hope, or pleasure flies, 

And shadows meet. 



Slowly around us seemed to fall 
A shadow like a funeral pall ; 
A pallor settled over all — 

A ghostly glare, 
And moaning voices seemed to call 

Along the air. 

We hurried on ; a rugged road 

Wound through the hills ; the bat and toad 

Greeted our eyes ; the fox-fire glowed 

Ghastly and chill, 
And streams all phosphorescent flowed 

To seas as still 

As is the tomb ; a river wide 

Wound round a mountain's jagged side 

With listless current ; and it died 

In a lone sea. 
Unstirred by breeze, or sail, or tide, 

Eternally. 

No bark upon that awful sea 
Had ever floated fair, or free. 
From curving lea to curving lea, 

Or caught a breeze, 
Or rested calm and quietly 

In listless ease. 

No sail with sounding crack had fanned 

The atmosphere ; no sailor hand 

Had thrown the sound ; no sturdy hand, 

In search of shore. 
With eager gaze had sighted land 

Ever before. 



73 



No huinan voice across the deep 

Had waked the beaches from their sleep ; 

No eye gazed down some rocky steep 

When day had fled, 
Nor woman bent with woe to weep 

Above the dead. 

Continually the light remained 

One constant thing : no sunbeam stained 

The eastern sky ; and never waned 

A dying moon ; 
No insect in that land complained 

With dolorous tune. 

" Within the shadow of this wood 
No human foot e'er dared intrude; 
Here dwells the Spirit of Solitude," 

Exclaimed my guide. 
" Here, by no wave of life pursued, 

She comes to hide." 

I saw the figure of a maid, 
Pensive, reclined in that deep shade ; 
Her elbow on a rock was stayed, 

And in her hand 
Her small and shapely head was laid : 

Her pose was grand. 

Her ebon tresses floated free, 

Down to her white and curving knee ; 

Her snowy waist I could not see, 

So rich and rare. 
Like silk, swept down luxuriantly 

Her heavy hair. 



Her face was thoughtful ; yet no care, 
Or pain, or joy, was printed there : 
Time swept away, yet did not wear 

Her heart or face. 
The years went by, but foul or fair 

They left no trace. 

Slowly her heavy eyes were turned 
Upon me, and as one who yearned 
Companionship she asked and learned 

My name and choice ; 
And then I heard, in words which burned, 

Her glorious voice. 

She spake to woo me, and each word 
Was sweet as tender music heard 
At midnight ; when some island bird 

Wakes in a copse, 
And, fluttering, from his wings are stirred 

Night's diamond drops. 

Then, while the stars keep watch o'er earth. 
Joyously pours his whole soul forth 
In gladsome tones, telling the birth 

In yonder nest. 
How love doth span the round world's girth, 

And make us blest. 

" Wander no more : why seek when thou canst rest ? 

Wander no more : in solitude is bliss — 
And he who knows not care is truly blest. 

Wander no more : abide and take my kiss 
Upon thy lips. Why search for joy or fame, 

Or wealth, or pleasure ? They evade the grasp. 



And leave behind them naught but age and shame — 
Life's vernal ivy poisoned by the asp. 

" Wander no more : here comes no breath of care, 

Nor caulking memories ; here the soul is stilled 
By Lethean winds, which fluctuate the air ; 

With sweet contentment, here, the mind is filled ; 
Here never storm of strife doth strike or sweep. 

And sorrow never fills the eyes with tears, 
But sweet Oblivion lulls the brain to sleep. 

And life glides by unmindful of the years. 

" Tarry with me. Come — I will lay my arms 

Around thy neck ; and I will kiss thy cheek, 
And I will soothe thy soul with magic charms ; 

And when thy heart desires it I will speak ; 
And lulled in slumber here we two shall lie. 

Clasped in each other's arms, unknowing strife. 
Beneath this silent and unchanging sky, 

Finding in solitude the bliss of life." 

So sweet her voice, I seemed to feel 
A peaceful calm around me steal ; 
Her beauty set a subtle seal 

Upon my brain ; 
But Fancy, watching for my weal, 

Spake in soft strain : 

" Beware her : this is but deceit ; 
There is no pleasure at her feet ; 
Who truly lives in Peace must meet 

The world and fight ; 
No man from duty dare retreat 

Into the night. 



?r.- 



"No hero will from duty shirk ; 
The earth demands his truest work ; 
Only the laggard cares to lurk 

In listless ease ; 
Better to face the storm and murk 

Of raging seas." 

Her face to purest beauty grew ; 

I gazed upon it, and I knew 

The words she spoke were strong and true 

I left the maid 
Reclining, and on swift steps flew 

From that strange shade. 

Out of the shadows of the wood 
Where that pale spirit loves to brood, 
Painting the joys of Solitude, 

I passed with pain — 
And in a new land I renewed 

My heart again. 



The Land of Music. 



We came unto a rolling land, 
Where swelling hills on every hand 
Stretched toward the azure sky. The bland 

And scented breeze 
Of spring blew, bearing murmurs grand 

Of distant seas. 

'Twas eventide ; the sun hung low 
In the far west ; the gladsome flow 
Of waters lulled me, and below, 



77 



From the abyss, 
Through trees I heard the zephyrs blow 
Their notes of bliss. 

"This," said my guide, and gazed at me, 

"Is the fair realm of melody, 

Pass through : within it you shall be 

Thrilled into peace. 
Be glad : Here music welleth free. 

Here passions cease. 

" 'Tis here the heart is lifted far 
Above itself. Here shines the star 
Of blessed Hope. The endless war 

Man makes with pain 
Is quieted ; and here souls are 

Happy again." 

Then faint, but welling louder, I 
Heard low-breathed music passing by : 
From infinite recesses of sky 

The numbers came — 
Such songs as spirits sing on high 

When free from blame. 

Something to touch the human heart, 
And bid the baser thoughts depart ; 
Sweet notes that bore no touch of art. 

And yet which make 
The crystal tears of feeling start 

When our hearts ache. 

I felt the tender music run 

Along my frame, in unison 

With all my soul. My hopes were won. 



78 



I thought, at last, 
Cecilia's sweetest threads were spun 
To bind me fast. 

The breeze which through the forest played 
Made melody. The tree tops swayed 
To perfect time. The rivers made • 

Music sublime. 
And melody swept o'er the glade 

In endless rhyme. 

"I will stay here !" at last I cried, 
In joyous accents to my guide. 
" Ye cannot linger," she replied : 

" The hand of Fate 
Pushes us onward, and we glide 

To a new state." 

And then I saw the vision pass, 
Like to a molten stream of glass : 
The sunlit hills rose up like brass. 

And passed me by ; 
And long and level fields of grass 

Stretched 'neath my eye. 

The tender music died away : 

I looked, and saw a broad plain lay, 

Endless and calm. The dying day 

Grleamed red and passed, 
And in the east the twilight gray 

Rose thick and fast. 

A subtle perfume blessed the brain 
From flower and blossom. All the plain 
Was flecked with bloom : the spring-time rain 



79 



Had kissed the grass : 
The rich aroma strove in vain 
. To rise and pass. 

Up from the east a leaden shade 

Rose slowly : backward swept dismayed 

The sunset glare, as if afraid 

To meet and fight 
With the dark legions stern arrayed 

By sable night. 

Twilight fell over ns. We trod 
The verge of that lone land : the sod 
No human foot had pressed. All awed 

Upon that plain, 
I passed toward the horizon : Grod 

Smiled on us again. 

Venus flashed out into the sky ; 
Belted Orion kissed my eye ; 
The Pleiades shone faint on high ; 

And, far and bright, 
The sun-star Sirius rose to try 

A war with night. 

Shrilly, from a far distant hill, 
Sang a complaining whip-poor-will, 
In a discordant fitful trill. 

All else beside, 
Around us, was as calm and still 
As death's chill tide : 

The silent night, the depths of space. 
The shadows falling on my face. 
Wakened my awe, and left their trace 



Upon my cheek. 
Thought followed thought in lively chase : 
I could not speak. 

'Neath Nature's roof I felt how small, 
How weak, how frail was man ; where all 
Creation moves unto the call 

Of boundless Power, 
And heaven's drops of goodness fall 

In endless shower. 

I know not if we moved : I know 
The plain passed by us, swift, or slow ; 
And far away I noticed, low 

In the dark night. 
An unknown object rise and grow 

Upon my sight. 

" Whether we move, or whether stay," 
Gently I heard sweet Fancy say, 
" That castle old, antique and gray, 

Our eyes shall see ; 
Within its halls all spirits stray 

With Memory." 

[These three poems ("Vision of Poverty," "The Land of 
Solitude," "The Land of Music,") are parts of a poem which 
will be completed at some future time. — Author.] 



"That Yearling Brindle Steer." 



" Good morning, Mizez Johnson ; 

I'm well ; how do you do ? 
Thank you, yes'm ; I'll take a cheer. 

Bat can't stay long wi' you. 



81 



I'm out travelin' this mornin', 
And thought I'd step down here 

And ask if you'd seed nothin' 
Of a yearlin' brindle steer. 

" I turned him out six weeks ago, 

Along o' about six head ; 
When I turned him out that mornin', 

My Martha Jane, she sed : 
' I wouldn't be a bit surprized 

If that*calf don't come back, 
For he never wuz turned out afore. 

And it don't know our pack.' 

" Wall, I turned 'em out that mornin'. 

Just arter a shower o' rain. 
And the last time I seed on 'em 

They wuz in Curtis' lane ; 
And that wuz about three hours 

Arter I'd turned 'em out, 
And that they'd be up that evenin' 

I didn't hev no doubt. 

" But sure enough, when evenin' come. 

That brindle steer warn't thar ; 
But I sent Jo Williams arter him, 

And I didn't hev no fear 
But he'd be down to Curtis' ; 

But Jo come back right soon 
And sed that calf warn't at Curtis's 

No mor'en he was in the moon. 

" Now whar that calf hez gone to 
Iz a mystery to me ; 



83 



'N I never think bad o' no man, 

But Jeems Rogers sed he see 
Curtis a drivin' a pack o' steers 

Up^ to Granville town ; 
'N he sed he'd state, at the risk o' his ears, 

One o' them calves wuz brown. 

" Now I don't say bad o' no man, 

Fur I like to think the best ; 
'N I ain't never had no trouble 

With Curtis, or the rest ; 
But that Curtis, Mizez Johnson, 

Iz a mystery to me ; 
He'd as soon make a trade with a nigger 

Ez trade with you or me. 

" Last fall I hed an old black mare. 

Her age were twenty year ; 
Curtis hed wanted to trade fur the brute 

For more, or less 'n a year : 
So he cum foolin' aroun' my house, 

An' sez to me, sez ee, 
'I'll give a calf'n sum oats fur the jade. 

If you want to trade wi' me.' 

" I sed I didn't want no calf — 

The mar' warn't fit to trade — 
But, by Jing ! he kep' a coaxin' me, 

'N at last, to stop his head, 
I told him praps some day I'd come 

To see his calf 'n oats, 
'N then he toddled home, fur he sed 

He had to pen some shotes. 



" One day I had to take a trip 

Across to Harper's place ; 
I didn't expect, wlien I started, 

To look on Curtis' face ; 
But while passing through his orchard 

The old man hollered ; ' Scott, 
Ef you want to see that calf o' mine, 

He's down here in the lot.' 

" There wuz a calf a standin' by, 

'IS" I pinted to the beast, 
'N asked him ef 'twuz large ez that, 

'N de sed, 'almost at least.' 
'N I told him 1 wuz feeble, 

'N wouldn't go down to see ; 
'JN" I sed no more to Curtis, 

'N he sed no more to me. 

" So I went on to Harper's, 

'N then I cum back home. 
ISText day I wuz sowin' medder, 

When who but Curtis cum. 
And sot and sot till dinner time, 

'N boned me for a trade ; 
He'd give me twenty bushels o' oats 

'N thet calf o' his fur the jade. 

" Well, finally I consented, 
'N the 'greement thet we made 

Wuz, Curtis wuz to take the mare 
'N fetch the things he said ; 

'N so on thet 'ere evenin' 
A boy o' Curtis come, 



Leadin' a calf with a halter 
To take the old mare home. 

" 'Nsuch a calf! it warn'thalf 

As big ez the one I seen ! 
1 kinder blamed myself jes then 

Fur havin' been so green : 
But I knew the man wuz a Yankee, 

'Nthortl'dletitgo, 
Fur you never see no sort o' good 

Cum from a Yankee, you know. 

" For a Yankee, Mizez Johnson, 

Is natur's meanest man : 
I think when God made 'Adam, 

He hed a difrunt plan 
On which he made the Yankee. 

'N heaven, I think I know. 
Will not be such a plezant place 

If a Yankee hez a show, 

" Nex mornin' I chanced to be away — 

I'd just went over to Sam's ; 
But I kinder thought that Curtis 

Would be up to some more shams ; 
So when at last I did get back, 

I wasn't much surprized 
To find thet Curtis had brought the oats, 

Nor to find he had disguised, 

" The truth about the grain I got. 

Fur it was spilt with must : 
When I seed that, Mizez Johnson, 

I wuz mad enough to bust ; 



85 



Fur thet Curtis, Mizez Johnson, 

Aint any sort o' good ; 
He'd ruther trade with a nigger 

'!N" a white man, if he could. 

" Nex day he took the ole black jade, 

And went up west sumwhar, 
'N traded with a cullered man 

Fur quite a likely mar'. 
They say he told the nigger 

The ole mar's age wuz nine ; 
Thet the man he got her from sed so. 

An' swore thet she wuz fine. 

'N now that he hez made a spec, 

'N got my y earlin' calf, 
'N a fiUey for his musty oats, 

Why he leans back to laff 
At the way he beat the ole man, 

']Sr beat the nigger too. 
Fur he enjoys cheatin' a nigger as much 

Az cheatin' me or you. 

" No, I thank you, Mizez Johnson, 

I guess I'll get on back ; 
But if I find that yearlin' steer 

Along o' Curtis' pack, 
I'll make it so orful hot for him 

He'll wish he wuz away : 
No, I guess I can't stay to dinner : 

Come down right soon. Good day !" 



Mabel Ellerslie. 



Jane Ellerslie was old and poor — 
She lived in a hut on a lonely moor ; 
A lonely moor, though a public road 
Curved down by the hut where she abode. 
She was a widow with but one child— 
A maiden beautiful and mild, 
Just blushing into womanhood — 
A beautiful maiden, pure and good. 

All unknowing worldly ways 
Mabel Ellerslie passed her days. 
Watching the shadows cross the moor. 
As the long grass waved, and round the door 
She planted the purple heather bloom. 
And the modest pansy. The rich perfume 
Of the pale wild rose stole through the grass 
To bless and encircle the modest lass. 

She and her mother tilled a spot 
Of land that lay around their little cot. 
And living cheaply day by day 
Contrived to keep the wolf away. 
The moor was noted for its game. 
And many a hunter in spring-time came 
To hunt the fowl that rested there ; 
For in hunting season the very air 

Was dark with flocks of water hens, 
And ducks and geese, that sought the fens 
For rich wild seed. The hunters, they 
Would pass the hut, and sometimes stay 



87 



To get a meal. It came to pass 
That many admired the comely lass, 
And would often pause to pass a word, 
For Mabel was blithe as a singing bird. 

So wore her early life away. 
And thus, at last, one bright spring day, 
A hunter came with an honest air. 
With smiling eyes and cheeks as fair 
As the maiden's own — a manly grace 
Proclaiming him of a well-born race. 
He told the mother his dwelling lay 
In a great city far away. 

Where forever rushed the mighty tide 
Of trade and commerce. Mabel heard. 
Hungrily drinking every word ; 
Her eyes grew wide, and she longed for wings 
To fly and see these wonderful things. 
He, able all her wonder to trace. 
Marking the beauty of her pure face. 
Resolved to wile the time away 

On the lonely moor. So from day to day 
He never failed to visit the cot — 
He spoke of the beauty of the spot, 
The many charms of the lonely place, 
And gazing into Mabel's face. 
Praised her beauty — her queenly grace. 
Claimed her affection, won her heart, 
Acting in all an unmanly part. 

Oh ! saddest words for truth to tell. 
He won her affections, and she fell. 



Mabel Ellerslie, fair and bright, 

Shut out from her soul the life and light 

Of truth and virtue, and her name 

Was linked with the foulest words of shame. 

For the laws of Nemesis are the same, 

" Murder will out," and so will shame. 

Her poor mother, so crushed and tried, 

Lingered awhile heart-broken and died. 

The sweet-faced villain went away 

To seek new victims, and she, once gay 

And pure as the sunbeam that sought her door 

And fell in glory along her floor, 

Knowing no place where she might fly 

For rest and shelter, resolved to die. 

Forth she rushed where the stream crept slow, 
And plunged in the waves that lay below- 
All of life once bright and fair 
Passing away, but her golden hair 
Lay like a halo around her breast 
When they drew her forth from her place of rest. 
And strong men wept and women cried 
O'er the beautiful face of her who died. 

What of it all ? Is this the end ? 
Will not N"ature this crime amend ? 
God his eternal watches keeps. 
And the eye of Justice never sleeps. 
Somewhere Purity shall write 
This maiden's name in clearest light, 
Somewhere Virtue shall rise and tell 
Because she loved was why she fell. 



Somewhere the widow shall wake and see 
The child she loved, as pure and free 
As when she bore her, for the pain 
Of Love betrayed makes pure again. 

Somewhere God's destroying spark 
Shall strike the villain through the dark. 
Into his soul the curse be driven — 
The brand of Cain descend from heaven — 
For Grod his eternal watches keeps, 
And the eye of Justice never sleeps. 



Egypt and the Sphinx. 



Along this great blue river — this famed Nile — 

In this mysterious Egypt now I stray, 
And on its classic banks I rest awhile, 

O'erburdened by the glare of the fierce ray 
That beats upon the sand this cloudless day ; 

And the clear sky above me, deeply blue, 
As the broad Euxine, seems to stretch away 

In infinite recess, and change its hue [renew. 

From blue to gray; and then its first, pure tinge 

A land of dreams — gigantic dreams of kings — 
Oh ! who can tell what mighty dreams are hid 

In yonder mighty hippogriffs with wings, 
Yon temples, yon stupendous pyramid, 

These giant statues ! The bending heavens bid 
Our souls to pause and dream. But I arise 

And force once more my aching feet to thrid 
Those wrecks of ruin 'neath the glaring skies : 
At last ! at last ! the sphinx arises on my eyes. 



90 



O, silent spMnx! earth's history in stone ! 

By these three pyramids so lone and gray ; 
Thy natal day is with the years unknown, 

And with the glory passed from earth away. 
To thee "a thousand years are as a day." 

The life, the hope, the joy that earth has seen, 
The passions and the sufferings men betray, [sheen. 

Have passed before thee with their shade and 

But still, thou gazest on, silent, unmoved, serene. 

Thine is a classic knowledge. Thou beheld, 

In that far morning when thy years were few. 
Sweet Mimnon's chiming statue stand unveiled 

In morning, light ; and, flocking to renew 
Their daily vows, his votaries. There, too. 

Thou sawest long funeral trains defile- 
Triumphal marches, glittering pageants, new 
^ Forms of homage wrought for the kingly smile 

Of each proud conqueror who dwelt beside the 
Mle. 

Thy years behind thee fall, and fade like stars 

That startle from the canopy of night ; 
Thou lookest back, beyond earth's tide of wars. 

To almost see the earth emerge to sight 
From heaven's destructive billows. And the flight 

Of years has made thee weary. Days have died ; 
In ceaseless round the sun has gained heaven's 
height 

And shed his glory. Mght has spread as wide. 

The gods have been revealed and heroes deified. 
The mystic rites that deified the sun 

Are like its temples, ruined and o'erthrown ; 



The mysteries of Egypt too are done, 

And all their glittering pageantry has flown. 
All shrines where men have worshipped thou hast 
known — 
Egyptian, Roman, Greek, have come and gone. 
Pagan, Christian, Moslem. The last alone 
Lingers a shadow in the horizon. 
Where the world's greatest works first met the 
morning dawn. 

The priest mapped out the heavens and grew wise ; 

His deity an ox — the mighty beast — 
A sacred form of power in his eyes ; 

The sun arose and flooded all the east 
With beams of glory, and when day had ceased 

The stars came out and smiled, and he grew glad 
Beneath their tender light. A visual feast 

Were all the changes which the priesthood had 

To thee, who sat unmoved though earth were 
gay or sad. 

Thou sawest successive generations rise, 
The poet sang their magic songs and died ; ' 

And each triumphant conqueror with sighs 
Owned love his conqueror, and pressed his bride 

With joyous rapture. Maidens, tender-eyed 
As these of latter times, won hearts and smiled. 

Art triumphed, architecture reigned, and wide 
The sculptor's fame was blazoned. Sin beguiled 
Her many votaries. Truth sat apart reviled. 

Thou sawest the nations, like the foaming waves, 
Form, gather into power, and pass away ; 



Thou smilest in benignity o'er graves 
Of pre-historic races ; and the gay, 

Bronzed faces of the Orient did play 
In Lilliputian grandeur at thy feet, 

Ere Aaron or Moses had their day ; 
Ere Pharaoh perished, or the desert beat 
With the tired march of Israel's long retreat. 

The cities fell around thee as Time's hand 

"Was laid upon them. Streets grew still and cold, 
And learning vanished as the grains of sand 

Ran through the hour-glass. Palaces grew old 
And blackened into ruins, while the mold 

Of foul decay fell. Continually 
Around tliee fell Time's mantle, fold on fold. 

Casting a halo and a mystery [thee. 

Over the silent form and hands that fashioned 

And still no word breaks from thy stony lips, 
Thou watcher in this strange and silent land, 

Whose glory lies forgotten in eclipse. 
As thou shalt lie beneath this shifting sand. 

Yet all earth's history, all the great and grand 
And truly glorious actions of mankind. 

Of every age and race and every strand, [signed. 
Have been since thou, O sphinx ! was first de- 
And by those unknown hands upon the desert 
shrined. 

Oh, child of age ! I learn a thought from thee : 
If from thy lips no thrilling accents fall 

Of man's good actions and what man should be, 
Thou, too, art silent to his evil — all. 

He, who doth rule the heavens, will he call, 



93 



Like trooping phantoms from their graves, these 

kings ? 
Will he pour out his bitterness and gall 
Over their dust, for these forgotten things ? 
Or will He not bring life and healing on His 

wings ? 

Thou child of age and silence. Even I, 
Who falter here with slow and feeble tone, 

Shall tread with buoyant step beneath a sky 
Whose deeds and actions thouhastnever known. 

Thou hast one form — shalt have but one, alone— :- 
But 1 through many changes yet shall draw 

New beauties in new lands beyond the sun — 
Treading where deathless spirits tread with awe. 
Attain with joy at last the law within the law. 

August, 1882. 



The Substitute. 



Wide fields rich with the year's increase ; 

A sweet calm resting everywhere : 
O'er all the earth the smile of peace ; 

Peace on the sea — peace in the air. 
Soft breezes from dark groves of spice. 

And where the white magnolias bloom ; 
And whispers of a paradise 

Where fluctuates the rich perfume 
Of rose and lily. And the sea, 

Ebbing and flowing, seems to tell 
Unto the earth unceasingly 

That all is peace, and all is well. 



94 



Scars vanish with the flight of years, 

And social discords pass away ; 
Time dries the fount of bitter tears, 

And in heaven's light we stand to-day. 
Forgetting when war's flag unfurled — 

When drums were beaten, fifes were blown, 
And men went marching o'er the world 

To where the star of battle shone, 
With cheeks of iron and eyes of fire — 

When hatred blew her horrid breath, 
And roused the soul to deeds of ire. 

While glory's path led on to death. 

What cheeks were flushed with murderous rage, 

What hearts were filled with wrath and hate. 
What history's written on life's page. 

What loves, what homes made desolate— 
What words were said, what tears were shed— 

The hearts that broke, the hopes which fled— 
What cheering prospects passed away— 

What lips met lips— no voice shall say. 
No tongue can tell, no pen can write. 

Wild as the ocean, which the ark 
Went drifting o'er in nature's night, 

Was our great discord— and as dark. 
In that sad time two men I knew, 

Named Thomas Wright, and William Gray, 
Whose strong young hearts beat proud and true, 

And these two men loved Martha Ray, 
Fondly and true— but neither knew 

Himself beloved by her ; but when 
O'er all the land war's bugle blew, 



95 



Calling upon the nation's sons 
To rise and arm them for the fight, 

To buckle swords and carry guns, 
And to strike swift and strong for right — 

Each heard the cry ; so ere he went, 
Eager his future fate to prove. 

With words of tender sentiment 
Each sought the maid to tell his love. 

With manly air and honest face 

Will G-ray came first to bid adieu. 
And asked within her heart a place 

In words well chosen, strong and few ; 
But she refused him, saying : " Friend — 

For friend you are — I know not how 
To frame my speech. Let friendship lend 

Language to clothe my sorrow now. 
Far happier would life seem to me 

If your kind words had ne'er been said ; 
I love you not as love should be 

For him to whom I may be wed ; 
Promise me this — that friendship still 

Shall be 'twixt us ; and oh ! I pray 
Heaven, in its boundless mercy, will 

Shed on thy head a happier day." 

Trembling and pale he clasped her hand 
And murmured hoarsely : " Dearest one ! 

The lark dwells lowest in the land 
Of all the birds, yet loves the sun. 

And I had fondly dreamed to lift 
Myself to thee, and make thee mine ; 



96 



To claim thy heart— a splendid gift- 
But I must bow at friendship's shrine, 

Loving thee still ; but love is pure- 
Through the pure passion that I feel, 

Thine to command^ I still endure 
A constant friend in woe or weal. 

Thus he went from her, bowed and lone. 

The other came, his story told, 
And claimed the maiden for his own ; 

She felt his arms around her fold 
And love's hot kisses warm her cheek ; 

She lay upon his manly breast 
Too full of happiness to speak. 

Sphered in the Eden of love's rest. 

The bitter pang that parting leaves 

Came unto her, days flew away 
On lightning wings ; each man receives 

Word to prepare for marching day ; 
And, side by side, one filled with bliss. 

The other with a heart like stone, 
After the farewell clasp and kiss 

They sought the front where battle shone. 

Time traveled on untiring feet : 

Love lit the sullen hours for one, 
And all his way seemed bright and sweet ; 

Despair shut out the other's sun— 
And thus they went. Pride lifted one 

And nerved his arm to strike his foes ; 
Love made the other's feet to run 

With patriot zeal— and both men rose 



From rank to rank, and both gained fame, 
On fields of battle, carnage strewed ; 

Each heard the nation's loud acclaim, 
Each earned his country's gratitude. 

The field of war is dark with fate ; 
For he who walks with steps elate. 
And he whose life is desolate. 
Are destined darker days to know. 
Mid cannon's roar and bugle's blow. 
While each man fights and dreams of her, 
Each finds himself a prisoner ; 
And guarded by a strong detail, 
With others, they are sent to jail. 

They lay amongst a motley crowd, — 
Some laughing — singing — others bowed 
Beneath the great infliction. There 
Were prayers and curses in the air. 
Thomas and Will were set apart 
And talking lowly. Thomas' heart 
Was crushed and heavy — ^but for G-ray 
There was not e'en the blissful ray 
Which shone for Thomas ; for he knew 
Martha loved Thomas leal and true. 

A lull fell, for a soldier bore 

The will of the Commander Moore. 

The order ran ; " An awful fate 

Has visited our men of late, — 

Ten prisoners have been foully slain. 

These men (my soldiers) plead in vain 

The rights of war, — condemned to die 

On charge that each man was a spy 



Without just trial, — now I command 
Ten men be drawn to meet the lot 
Dealt out to mine, so foully shot. 
And let them meet the fate at dawn 
Of the brave soldiers who have gone 

Out of our ranks. Witness my hand." 

It was a fearful sight to see 
Each whitening face and trembling knee 
As by the guard the note was read ; 
Full many a deep-toned curse was said 
'G-ainst the commander — but no curse. 
Or prayer, or passion, could reverse 
The mandate. So the guards prepared 
The lots ; — all dumb, — for their hearts shared 
A sympathy for men as brave, 
So soon to drop into the grave. 

Round went the balls, and when 'twas done 
Gray held a milky marble one, 
But Wright's was black. He was to die. 
There broke from Gray a sudden cry ; — 
An awful hope surged in his heart, 
But the next moment with a start 
He turned to Wright. " Comrade ! Give 
Me the black, for thou must live." 
"Nay!" Thomas said: "I tell ye nay. 

No cowardice hath stained my brow. 
And shall not in this awful day. 

I am a soldier and I bow 
To Providence, who ruleth all ; 
What matter where a soldier fall, 
If he be brave. I will obey." 



99 



•' But Martha Ray," urged Gray again, 
" "What will she do, what happen, when 
The courier rides down the lane 
With stinging whip and stiffened rein. 

To tell of thy unhappy fate ? 
I tell thee, man, this must not be ; 
Her life's as dear to me as thee ; 
And yet I know she loves not me. 

Yield now, or it will be too late ; 
No one will weep if I should fall ; 
The guard comes now ; give me the ball." 

Dazed, Thomas yielded ; black and white 
Were quickly changed — the marvelous sight 
Was witnessed by the guard between, 
"Who gazed in wonder on the scene — 
Then Thomas fainted. Soon the guard 
Spake tenderly as one who had a hard 
Task, questioning : " Whom shall I say ?" 
The other answered — " William G-ray." 
He wrote and passed. When Thomas came 
Unto himself he asked what name 
Was given. His friend could not reply. 
But others told him. Then his cry 
Arose against it. Gray must live — 
He would not have it. They must give 
Him the black ball — all too late, 
His swoon had sealed his comrade's fate. 

Gray soothed him, and they sat till dawn 
Talking over the times long gone 
And then of Martha. " Tell her, you," 
Gray said, " my heart beat ever true, 



100 



And that I died for you and her, 
Remembering the days that were 
Ere battle called us. Now, good-bye ; 
Love makes it easier to die." 

Thus passed away that fearful night ; 
The morning came and brought the men 
Who were to seal the fate of ten 
Brave soldiers. 'Twas a solemn sight. 
G-ray stood there in the morning light 
Silent and calm. His brow was bare ; 
The morning breeze played with his hair, 
Which curled above a forehead fair 
And beautiful. The clear brown eyes 
Were lifted prayerfully towards the skies ; 
No tremor shook that youthful frame 
From which so soon his soul of flame 
Was to soar heavenward. There, grim 
But with moist eyes that looked at him. 
Stood the armed soldiers. Behind, lay 

^ The brown-stained coffin. There were birds 
Singing their tend'rest songs that day, 
And from the jail not far away 

Came the low hum of muffled words. 
As men spake of the glorious gift 
Which he had given, that he might lift 
One, with blue eyes and golden hair, 
Out of the dark depths of despair 
And save a comrade. On the hills 
The warm sun lay and kissed the rills. 
Nature her sweetest smile put on. 
Uncaring that ere day was gone 



101 



Beneath her sunlight there should be 
A most stupendous tragedy. 

" Kneel," came the word. He bent his knees ; 
And now approaching him he sees 
An officer to blind-fold him. " Nay ! 
I need not that. Let my eyes stay 
Free to the sunlight of God's day. 
One moment more for thought and prayer, 
Another breath of Grod's pure air." 
He clasped his hands and lowered his brow 
A moment's space ; then faced them. "Now!" 
" Fire !" cried the chief. The flames leaped out ; 
From all the crowd arose a shout 
Of hate and horror. Down the vale 
The echoes poured to tell the tale 
How man had died for fellow man ; 

But one who knelt upon a knee 
And felt his pulse and took his hand, 
Heard, murmured like a dying breeze 
That sighs in autumn through the trees, 

" Martha, beloved, I die for thee." 

Nine widows mourn nine husbands dead ; 

War's cloud rolls past and far away ; 
Soldiers come back with stately tread. 

And Thomas Wright weds Martha Eay. 

A weeping willow's shade is thrown 
Over a stately shaft of stone 
Which rises white o'er yonder bay ; 
It bears the name of William Gray ; 
And carved upon it you can see 
These simple words : " He died for me." 



102 



If I Could See Thee. 



If I could see thee as thou wast 

When youth's green spring hung o'er thee- 
Thine eyes so full of guileless trust, 

Life's unknown joys before thee — 
Grlad, I would cease my wailing strain, 
And sing a song of joy again. 

If on thy shadowed face could glow 

The old forgotten glory — 
Thy features could not help but show 

While listening to love's story — 
Glad would I cease my song of pain. 
And sing a song of joy again. 

But on thy face, and in thine eye. 

The cares of life are lying ; 
The founts of joy are drained and dry, 

And Hope itself is dying ; 
And thy pale brow, once fresh and -weet. 
Is tracked by Time's unlingering feet. 

And all thy mePow laugh is gone, 
Which once made music in my ear ; 

The eyes which once I doted on, 
That beamed upon me, smiling, clear. 

Grown lusterless and dim at last. 

Are faded mockeries of the past. 

How can my harp forget my pain, 
And strike again a note to Love ? 

I fail ; my feeble effort — vain — 
Is like the moaning of a dove, 



103 



"Whicli tries to sing a merry song, 
But fails, and tells a tale of wrong. 

And what thou art — and what I am. 
And might have been, I dare not think ; 

But surely with unerring step 
We move unto life's final brink, 

Where I shall cease my wailing strain, 

And sing a song of joy again. 



Why Vex the Heavens with Useless 
Prayer? 



Why vex the heavens with useless prayer ? 

The glorious heavens above us spread — 
Where skies are blue, and night is fair, 

And bright stars circle round our head ; 
And light seems bending everywhere — 
Why vex the heavens with useless prayer? 

God is all-wise — the priests declare ; 

He knoweth every hidden spring 
Which moves our minds, and everywhere 

He animates each living thing : 
He fills the circumambient air — 
Why vex the heavens with needless prayer ? 

God seeth all — the preacher cries ; 

Each secret action man has done 
Is open to His watchful eyes. 

And not a feather in the sun 
Floats but He guides it by his care — 
Why vex the heavens with faithless prayer? 



'No space exists where he is not ; 

Far as the flight of farthest star, 
In Pluto's loneliest Stygian grot, 

Grod and His mighty angels are : 
Hither his messengers repair, 
And work his will, nor hearken prayer. 

God loveth all— His Scriptures tell ; 

Each soul came forth at His command, 
And every soul He willeth well ; 

Earth lies enclosed by His strong hand : 
He will not doom us to despair — 
Why Vex the heavens with doubtful prayer? 

He changes not — a thousand years 

May pass, and He will be the same. 
He giveth life, and willeth tears ; 

To some gives honor— others, shame : 
We cannot fly beyond his care- 
Why vex the heavens with useless prayer ? 

His laws are fixed, and they will work 

His own good will. He sees the end. 
And all the thoughts of life that lurk 

In man, and what they all portend : 
He gives none more than he can bear — 
And works His plans despite of prayer. 
For me, I trust His perfect grace ; 

I lay my life within His hand ; 
For though I cannot see His face. 

My Father's love is great and grand : 
His heart the same sweet love will bear. 
E'en though I bend not here in prayer. 



105 



To do my work as fits a man, 
Trusting the great outcome to'Him, 

"Who gazes from that better land, 
"Where love and life are never dim ; 

To love my neighbor, and to bear 

My burden here, is more than prayer. 

And thus I live in perfect faith, 
Knowing whate'er is best will be : 

And soon, or later, lurking Death, 
"Who comes for all, will come for me 

But now I wait, and yield my share 

Of human life in praise, not prayer. 



My Mother's Grave. 



Above the valley hangs the languid air ; 

On dale and hill 
The drowsy summer rests ; the sky is fair, 

The woods are still. 

The happy birds are singing in the groves : 

The honey bee, 
Wandering in search of golden nectar, roves 

From lea to lea. 

The wild rose spreads its petals to the air ; 

The zephyrs sigh 
"Wearied with all the rich perfumes they bear. 

And sweetly die. 

The blue haze drifts along the distant creeks ; 

The trailing beech 
Droops its long branches o'er the bank, and seeks 

The waves to reach. 



106 



Oh ! with what calm delight have I beheld 

This blissful scene, 
In other happy, youthful days of eld. 

When earth was green, 

And skies less fair than even this blissful day, 

The airless calm, 
And summer breezes on their unknown way 

Brought less of balm. 

Now while a joy is over all the ground 

I lie and weep 
Above a loved one sleeping 'neath this mound 

Her last long sleep. 

Her last long sleep, which knows no waking here, 

And it may be 
This awful sleep may last, for me and her. 

Eternally. 

0,. mother ! 0, the pang, the awful pain. 

That fills my breast. 
To think that nevermore on earth again 

My eyes shall rest 

On thy dear features : that no more our hands 

Shall touch and twine ; 
No more lo\^e join our lips, nor thy commands 

Thrill me like wine ! 

How can the changing years bring aught to prize 

Since thou art gone ? 
I grasp the things once precious in my eyes — 

Their worth is flown. 



107 



The noble things I thought to do and dare 

Are left undone, 
Because thou art not here with me to share 

The triumphs won. 

0, from those spotless heights to which ye rise 

In yon deep blue, 
Among the deathless souls who walk the skies 

In joy with you, 

Whose hands clasped thine with an unchanging 
love, 

And welcomed thee 
To those pure courts so fair, so high above 

This earth and me — 

Turn thou those eyes on one who walketh here, 

And faintly hopes 
That some celestial strain may reach his ear 

From heaven's high slopes ; 

Some breathing of that wondrous harmony, 

That strain so fine, 
Which sets the doubting soul from error free 

And makes divine 

That nature over whom the music steals 

In languorous tone. 
And may the voice which soothes my pain, and 
heals. 

Be thine alone ; 

Thou who didst cheer my petty sorrows here, 

My fleeting grief, 
Be thine the melody to charm my ear 

And give relief. 



108 



So shall the days be bright for me once more ; 

So shall the earth 
For me her sweetest roundelay outpour 

In trills of mirth. 

So shall I feel that all along life's path 

My feet shall be 
Guarded by all the power thy spirit hath, 
Continually — 

Until my change shall come, and Love shall spread 

Before my sight 
The broad, fair land, where live again th,e dead 

In endless light. 

June, 1882. 




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